Page 35 of When Cardinals Appear

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there,” he said.

“It’s my fault I was tearing down the aisle like the Indy 500,” I quipped, glancing into his cart. “Frozen dinners?”

“What’s wrong with that?” he demanded.

“It just screams ‘bachelor,’” I replied with a wry smile.

“Well...” He waved his bare left hand. He peeked into my basket. “What are you getting?”

“Odds and ends, though I feel like cooking something tonight. Haven’t decided what yet.”

“Need suggestions?” he asked.

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to procure an invite?”

“Maybe.” That slow, heart-melting smile stole over his face. “If you’re offering.”

That was… unexpected. But I wasn’t about to waste his good mood. “Hmm, I could be persuaded.”

“How about we make a trade? You cook, and I’ll buy your groceries?”

I wasn’t one to turn down a free meal, even if I was technically paying for it with my labor. “It’s a deal.” I dumped my things into his cart and slid an arm through his elbow.

“When did you learn to cook?”

I bit my lip and stared at the ground. “My mom taught me some things growing up, but I guess I learned most of it through trial by fire when she was sick.”

He patted my hand but didn’t respond. Perhaps he didn’t know what to say. As the awkward silence between us lengthened, I searched for a safe subject.

“I was thinking I’d make shepherd’s pie.”

“Sounds like the perfect meal for a cold winter’s day,” he agreed.

I blew out a breath, and we wandered through the rest of the store as I added to our supplies. To my surprise, the conversation flowed easily while we shopped. Nate paid, and I blinked at the cost, but when I opened my mouth to protest, he waved me off. Business must be good, though I supposed with it being winter, I likely wasn’t the only person who had fought a pothole and lost.

We headed to my house, with Nate following in his car, and he helped carry the groceries inside. I poured two glasses of wine then turned on some music while I began preparing the meal. Singing along to the tune, I caught Nate staring at me and flushed at the intensity of his gaze. I suspected what he was thinking as the memory flashed through my mind as well—late nights on the phone when I’d serenaded him before he slipped off to sleep.

While I worked, I debated whether to tell him about the interview. On the one hand, he’d told me about the job in the first place, so it wouldn’t be weird for me to share my news. On the other hand, I hadn’t told anyone else, and somehow, I worried that telling Nate might imply I planned to stay. I wasn’t sure why I thought he would care beyond my filling a potential void in the town’s education system.

Once I slid the shepherd’s pie into the oven, I lowered the volume of the music and took a sip of my wine, steeling myself. My heart thumped in my chest, but whether from excitement or nerves, I didn’t know.

“I have something to tell you,” I whispered conspiratorially, leaning toward him.

“What’s that?” he whispered back, his eyes twinkling as he played along.

“I had an interview today,” I said.

He blinked and raised an eyebrow. “An interview? For what?”

“Mrs. Carlisle’s position,” I replied with a wink before lifting my glass and gulping down more wine. Why had I just winked at him? What was I thinking? I supposed that was the problem—I wasn’t thinking. The alcohol went straight to my head, which did little to help the situation.

“What?” Nate asked, his eyes wide. “You applied? When?”

“This morning.” I smiled, though I wasn’t sure what to make of his reaction. Shock etched across his face, but was it good or bad? And for that matter, why did I care?

Nate leaned back in his seat and stared at me in silence. I gave him a moment to process my news, but as the silence stretched on, everything started to itch, and I couldn’t stop myself from fidgeting. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Did I make a mistake in telling him? But he’d told me about the job, so shouldn’t that be a good thing? Unless he didn’t trust that I would follow through. My head was swimming, and I struggled to remember the last time I’d eaten. Was it the scones? I should have paced myself with the wine.

“What changed your mind?”

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