Page 28 of Heart Thief

After I lift my jaw up off the floor, I toss my purse—which now reminds me that I’m a faux-leather purse kind of a gal—and music bag onto the dining table instead of putting them away. Somehow, the action feels scandalous.

“Sure. I’d love to.”

“You like spicy? I’m all about spicy.”

Shocker. “Spicy is fine with me.”

“Wanna dice the bell pepper? I’ll do the onion and suffer the consequences.”

“Okay.”

We stand side by side, our knives chopping away. Zane doesn’t stop moving along with the music.

“C’mon, Mila. The rule of the kitchen is you have to dance while you cook. It makes the drudgery go by faster.”

I’m Gonna Bestarts to invade the airwaves. The beat begs to be danced to, so I move with the music as The Proclaimers sing about walking 500 miles to fall down at someone’s door.

Zane adds the bell pepper and onion to a pan and gives them a good sauté before adding them to the pot he has brewing on the stovetop. I try not to notice the movement of his hips, but they’ve decided to stare at me because none of his body parts have any manners. The smell of tomatoes and spices are calling to me, making my stomach grumble. At least, I think hunger accounts for the strange feeling in my stomach.

Zane dances over to the sink, washes his hands and uses a paper towel to wipe the onion tears from his eyes.

“It just has to simmer for twenty minutes or so,” he says.

While the chili finishes up, we clean up the kitchen, dancing along with the music, laughing at ourselves here and there.

He leaves the cutting board on the countertop along with the salt and pepper shakers instead of tucking them away into the cupboards. “There, now it looks like someone lives here and this isn’t a freakin’ model home.” He hangs the dishtowel on the oven handle, then messes it up so it’s not perfectly folded. “Much better.”

I can’t help but giggle. We’re acting like two kids who’ve been left home alone while our parents are out.

Zane grabs two bowls, ladles us each some chili, and covers the top with a generous amount of grated cheese.

“Hey, do you like Jeopardy?”

“The game show? Is that still on?”

“Yeah, you like it?”

“Sure.”

He hands me a bowl as he heads for the couch. He switches the music off and flicks the TV channel to Jeopardy. He assumes his usual position with his feet propped up on the coffee table. I don’t think the man has the ability to sit in any other way.

“C’mon, let’s see who can get the most answers right. Your answer has to be in the form of a question, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” I’m still standing in the living room, holding my bowl of chili, feeling dazed.

I’m not sure I’ve ever met a more unassuming man. This is Zane, like him or not. He is what he is and he doesn’t apologize for it.

“You gonna sit?” he asks with his mouth full.

“What is letting the body rest while the buttocks and thighs hit the couch?”

He lets out a bark of laughter. “That was perfect. A true Jeopardy winner in the making.”

I like this.

No, I love this. If this was a date, I’d call it the best date ever.

I take my seat on the other end of the couch.

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