Page 18 of Reckless
Alex followed her over to the food prep sink at the back of the kitchen, lettuce in tow. “A little honest to God risk-taking wouldn’t hurt you, you know.”
He hesitated while an idea took root in his head, his heartbeat kicking against his ribs as the notion grew. He knew—heknewthis was a bad plan, born of all sorts of self-preserving, fast-talking, bad-plan things. But the image of Zoe’s face, caught up in the momentary burst of both curiosity and daring possibility as she’d asked him about skydiving, flashed across his mind’s eye, and all of a sudden, Alex was done thinking.
He placed the container on the ledge next to the sink, serving up his cockiest grin. This was either going to be brilliant or it was going to blow up in his face like his own personal Armageddon. But he had nothing to lose except time, and anyway, finding out what Zoe Westin was really made of?
Yeah. Worth every inch of the risk.
“As a matter of fact, let’s brass these tacks once and for all,” he said, his words carving a hot path out of his mouth. He reached out, slipping the detachable nozzle for the faucet sprayer from Zoe’s fingers, and her corresponding laughter popped out on a gasp.
“What are you talking about?”
Alex returned the nozzle to its housing with a click, turning to look her right in the eye. “I’m talking about a deal. I’ll play by the rules in your kitchen, right down to learning how to cook, for the next four weeks…ifyou spend one day doing something risky with me and end up truly hating it.”
Zoe’s brows slid together, her face marked with more doubt than deep thought. “How do you know I won’t just tell you I hate it no matter what?”
“I don’t. But you were true to your word this morning when you let me stick around, so if I was a betting man—and it just so happens I am—I’d be willing to take a flyer and say I think you’re a pretty honest woman.”
For a minute, she said nothing, but then she broke the silence with, “You’re willing to risk four entire weeks of following the rules without complaint, all on the microscopic chance that I won’t hate whatever risky endeavor you throw in my direction?”
Oh. Hell. Yes.“Absolutely. If you give me your word you’ll be honest, I’ll give you mine that I’ll follow through if you really, truly hate being reckless. All you have to do is trust me—reallytrust me—for just one day.”
Her eyes narrowed, and holy shit, she was thinking about it. “And what is it we’ll be doing, exactly?”
“Something a little risky,” Alex said, his pulse quickening at her obvious shock even though he’d fully expected her reaction.
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“That would be the first risk.”
Zoe’s titanium spine grew a matching facial expression. “I’m not going skydiving, Alex.”
Ah, hell. He wanted to challenge her, not chase her off. “And based on our earlier conversation, I wouldn’t ask you to. No skydiving,” he agreed. “But for the rest, you’re going to have to trust me.”
Alex leaned in, close enough to breathe in the brisk citrus scent of her hair, and the combination of sweet versus tart shot straight to his gut as he said, “So what’s it going to be, Gorgeous? Are you in, or are you out?”
7
Zoe traced the bright red Scarlett’s Diner logo on the menu in front of her with one finger, her eyes making an obligatory scan of the breakfast options even though she hadn’t changed her usual order in over a decade. Clacking the menu shut, she let her gaze wander through the sun-filled window at her elbow, taking in the post rush-hour bustle as she slowly gathered her resolve. These Friday morning breakfast dates with her father, where they exchanged pleasantries and danced artfully around the twin elephants in the room named Divorce and Disapproval, were really bad enough. But today she had to contend with the ridiculous arrangement she’d made with Alex, too, and honestly, all the fortitude in the galaxy might not get her through the double header.
Who the hell had been in charge of her mouth when she’d impulsively blurted “fine” in response to his risk-reward challenge, Zoe had no idea. But the promise of Alex’s much needed help sans his reckless, who-cares attitude had been all too appealing, and one eight-hour chunk of her life had seemed like a smart trade-off for four weeks of slow and steady work that she wouldn’t have to pry out of him or worry about at every turn.
Even if she was one million percent certain she’d spend all of her day with him regretting it.
“Morning, Zoe. Can I get you some coffee?”
Zoe straightened against the red leather banquette at her back, knocking herself back to the here and now. Sara Martin, who had been waiting tables at Scarlett’s since she and Zoe had been in high school together, held up a pot of the diner’s city-famous brew, and Zoe’s mouth watered.
“Oh, God, yes. Please.” Zoe flipped the white ceramic mug in front of her to a right side up position, nudging it across the patterned Formica to put it in Sara’s reach. If anything could jump-start her in the right direction, Scarlett’s coffee definitely topped the list.
“So, how’s it going over there at Hope House?” Sara’s brown ponytail slid over her shoulder as she leaned in to fill Zoe’s cup with just enough room to accommodate the healthy splash of cream Zoe favored. Although they’d spoken more words in the three months Zoe had been back than they had in all four years of high school combined, Zoe worked up an optimistic smile. Sara’s steel-toed crowd might’ve scared her ten years ago, and the woman might still be a little rough around the borders, but Zoe had learned a lot about judging people from the so-called “wrong” side of Fairview since high school.
“We’re getting there,” she said. “There’s still only enough funding for us to run five days a week, but last month we were able to add hot breakfast on a limited basis, so it’s a step in the right direction.”
Zoe hated not being able to feed the shelter residents three square meals, seven days a week, but limited five-day service had been her only option since they’d opened the soup kitchen’s doors. What wasn’t an option, however, was going back-to-back days without offering any kind of food service, especially when the meals at the soup kitchen were often the only thing the residents had to eat. With Friday being payday for most people—as meager as it might be for Hope House’s residents—it seemed the best day to close the kitchen in favor of having breakfast and lunch service on Saturdays.
Sara nodded, just a quick tip of her chin. “Well, I think it’s cool you’re able to feed so many people, although with all that experience you’ve got, I bet you don’t hate the cooking.”
“I don’t hate the cooking,” Zoe agreed, selecting her words with care. Might as well warm up for the dance and defend she was about to have with her father. But, God, even though Fairview wasn’t a small city by any means, everybody sure was on a first name basis with what Zoe had left behind in DC.
