Page 46 of The Harborer
“And I told you you weren’t. And you’re not. So, yes, you could do that to me.” What the hell was he even saying?Fuck. He dragged his hand over his jaw. He needed a shave. He needed a shower. He needed … to not look at the horror in Amy’s eyes. “Look, I’m going to get cleaned up. By the time I get out, if you decide you want to go back to your place, just say the word and I’ll take you there.” Chicken that he was, he pivoted and bolted to the bathroom.
Shane checked himself inthe mirror half an hour later, smoothing over his face to make sure he hadn’t missed a whisker, his skin shaved to within a micro-millimeter of its life, his hair squeaky clean, and his body even cleaner. He would have been out ten minutes earlier but for the debate he had had with himself about what to wear.Yes, that’s right, folks. What. To. Wear.
As oddly arranged as his apartment was, it offered a bathroom with a walk-in-closet where his modest wardrobe hung or was folded into cubbies. So he’d stood with a towel wrapped around his waist as he’d turned over different looks in his head.
In the end, he’d gone with a pair of fresh flannel lounge pants and a worn long-sleeved tee with a faded SAR logo. He hadn’t dressed to impress—only to be comfortable because Lord knows he was as uncomfortable as a pair of boxer briefs three sizes too small.
The rich aroma of stewing meat and tomatoes greeted him when he finally exited. Soft, soothing jazz played somewhere. Even better was the sight of a beautiful woman humming in his kitchen as she stirred a pot on his hot plate. In her other hand, she held a tumbler filled with pale bubbly liquid. He’d never been treated to a scene like this one in his apartment before. Her silky black hair hung thick and loose, practically reaching her small waist. Without alerting her he was there, he stood back and watched. Her fluid movements were mesmerizing. Amy wasn’t a big woman—five-four, tops, maybe a buck ten, built like a dancer with narrow shoulders and hips. But between those hips and shoulders were some of the sweetest curves Shane had ever seen. Nothing about Amy was big, but she was softly round where it mattered most.
He cleared his throat to announce himself, and she jumped, looked at him over her shoulder, and trilled, “Sorry. Lost in the moment, I guess.” Her face was split in a wide grin.
He grinned back, unable to stop himself. “Nothing to be sorry about.”
She held up her glass. “I hope you don’t mind me helping myself to your glassware. I like to have champagne while I cook … or heat up food.”
For the first time in his life, he regretted not having fancy flutes. Fancy glasses ofanytype. “I’m glad you’re comfortable enough to help yourself.”
“Would you like some?”
Oh fuck, yeah. I’d likeallof it.“Uh, champagne, you mean?” he croaked.
“Mm-hmm.”
“No, thanks. I’m more of a beer guy.”
“I should have guessed that. I’ve served you enough beers at Miners Tavern.”
He let out an embarrassing bray as he lunged toward his fridge, bumping her shoulder in the process. He brought himself up short. “Sorry.” Jesus, he was making a total ass of himself!
“It’s okay. Not a lot of room to maneuver in here,” she chuckled.
He plucked out a beer, twisted off the cap, and took several steps backward. “Have you decided whether you’re staying tonight?”
Her back to him, she said, “I’m staying. I figure we’ll work something out.” A happy dance broke out inside him. “Dinner’s ready, if you are. Hope you’re hungry.” She glanced over her shoulder at him.
“Starving.”For more than food.
“Good. Have a seat.”
“Have a …?” He couldn’t remember someone ordering him to sit down in his own place before.
“Yes, Deputy. Sit down and get your big body out of my way so I can serve our dinner.” Mischief shone in those eyes of hers, and his chest might have puffed a little at hearing her refer to his body as big.
“Who knew our town barista had such a sassy mouth?” he threw back. And man, did that sassy mouth do things to his stomach and places south.
God, he had to get himself under control.
Amy had found his emergency candles stash and matches in one of his kitchen drawers, and she’d lit a few and placed them on a plate, lending his table a foreign yet cozy intimacy. He sat, twitchy as hell, and took a pull on his beer bottle because he wasn’t sure what else to do with himself. As he watched her serve up bowls of chili, he wondered if this was a typical scene from her life with Micky.Pastlife.
She placed a bowl of grated cheddar between them, along with a plate of toasted wheat bread covered in a kitchen towel. “Sorry I didn’t have any cornbread.”
“This is fantastic. Where did you get the cheese?”
“Brought it from my place. I found the bread on your counter. I hope you don’t mind that I toasted some.” He shook his head. He loved that she’d improvised, especially when she had so little to work with.
She held up her glass, and her eyes grew misty. “I know I’m repeating myself, but thank you. You’re a good friend.”
He nodded, his tongue tied in knots. It undid itself as he tasted the chili and as conversation unfurled between them in an easy, natural cadence, melting away the uneasiness that had held them in its force field earlier.
