Page 80 of Bargain with the Bachelor
Looping her arm through Hunter’s, she ignored the visual daggers I was throwing at her and started guiding him toward the front door.
AJ ran ahead of them, literally hopping with excitement when he reached the doorway and turned back to make sure his new best friend was coming.
Great.What was I going to do? Tell AJ no?
Mybest friend would be getting an earful the minute the two of us spoke privately. I hadjustgotten off the phone with her, telling her how horribly awkward the forced kiss had been.
While Hunter had faked his way through it, my body had taken it a hundred percent seriously and assumed full alert status.
Nipples tightening and drawing as much attention as possible? Check.
Panties damp and making me squirm? Check.
Face flushed and breathing accelerated and audible? Check and check.
Cinda knew good and well Iwouldn’twant Hunter there for lunch.
Fuming quietly, I followed the merry assembly into the tiny house and shut the door behind me, soaking in the warmth and delicious smells of Cinda’s small, functional kitchen.
The single mother ran a home-cleaning business, the Fairy Godmother Cleaning Agency, and worked long hours but somehow managed to keep her own home spotless and welcoming, with AJ’s framed drawings and preschool art projects proudly displayed. And there was always something good to eat whenever I visited.
It was such a contrast to the massive and sterilely beautiful home where I’d grown up. Well, it hadn’t always been that way. Once upon a time, my mother had cooked—I had fond memories of baking cookies together.
But Margot literally forbade anyone to use the kitchen for its intended purpose because she didn’t like the smell and she wanted the kitchen to stay “sanitary” and sparkling for guests.
Under her rules, it had been more of a showroom for expensive chef’s grade appliances than a place for food preparation.
Oh well, no doubt the new owners would appreciate the low mileage on them.
Needless to say, I’d never learned to cook, though I certainly would need to pick up some skills very soon. Maybe Cinda could give me a few lessons.
She and I followed AJ and Hunter back to the little boy’s bedroom. It had blue-painted walls with murals of animated airplanes from a popular kids’ show.
A set of shelves and cubbies housed his toy collection. He eagerly led Hunter to it, and Hunter sank to the floor, sitting cross-legged and listening intently to AJ’s enthusiastic description of each item.
As he responded in a warm tone I’d never heard him use before, I felt an odd, squeezing sensation in my chest.
Cinda leaned over and spoke close to my ear. “He’s a sweetie—gonna make a great daddy someday.”
Louder, she said, “Okay guys—lunch is in ten minutes. Be sure to wash your hands before you come to the table.”
“Come on.” She pulled me with her into the hallway and started toward the kitchen.
I frowned as I followed, considering Cinda’s observation. “I don’t think you’re right. Hunter is too obsessed with work.”
“Of course he is—right now. He’s single. What else is he going to focus on? My father says he was the same way until he met my mom. Men need areasonto relax and start appreciating the simple pleasures of life.”
“Not all men. Not my dad. Having me didn’t change his ambitious nature at all. He still worked himself into an early grave.”
“I knew your dad,” Cinda said. “Hunter isnotyour dad. Nothing like him. I think Hunter could be very easily persuaded to stop and smell the roses.” She winked. “Andthe homemade chili.”
“Maybeyoushould date him,” I muttered, shocking myself with the bitter tone of my words.
The notion of my best friend marrying Hunter turned my insides into a toxic waste disposal site.
Cinda laughed out loud. “Nope—for one thing, I don’t date. For another…thatone’s off the market—tagged and bagged.”
That got my full attention. “Why do you say that?”
