Page 44 of Hot and Bothered

Out in the dating world, Jules was an unstoppable force.

Shane had filled him in on her disappointing dates so far, mostly idiots and guys with shit for brains. But that could not last and Aaron Roberts was probably the first guy who truly looked good on paper—stable, safe, suburban. Tad had nipped that in the bud by sticking around long enough to ensure it was the least romantic first date ever. Evan had played his part by throwing a tantrum and letting the Rugmeister know that this family business took work.

But Tad couldn’t be in position with a cranky toddler and a scowl, ready to sabotage every date. There would be others with good jobs and picket fences and no qualms about taking on another guy’s kid because Jules and Evan were an amazing package deal. Neither would it be long before she clicked with someone.

Seeing how guys reacted to her now that she was on the market was killing him. First, that farmstand guy at Green City, then Aaron Roberts, and now Tad had to watch her get all handsy with Kitchen Hulk.

“This one. That’s…” She scrunched up her face, squinting to figure it out. Tad loved that look on her, how the dawning recognition of a word overcame her frustration at not knowing it immediately.

“Beaujolais Nouveau,” Derry said, referring to an intricately drawn ink of a chateau winged by grapes. “Fifteen hours,” he added with a grim smile.

Jules turned to Tad, her face bright and open. “Do we have any Beaujolais Nouveau in our cellar?”

Our cellar.That made him warm.

“A new batch is produced every November,” Tad said while he sliced some artisan cheddar. “We don’t cellar it because it doesn’t improve with age and people expect the latest vintage.”

Jules shook her head. “I’ve so much to learn between the vintages and the terms.Cru,brut, cuvée.There are so many and that’s just the French ones.”

“Tricky bastards, the French,” Derry said with feeling. Tad just about managed not to roll his eyes.

After a few more minutes of ink adoration, Derry left to run some errands.Yes, I ampaying you to work here.

Jules’s disappointed gaze followed Derry out, but she covered quickly and returned to the crab with crème fraîche spread she had been working on before the Derry Jones tattoo slide show had begun.

Huh.So Jules had a crush on a certain hard-boiled chef.

What did Tad expect? She wanted to meet someone and he wasn’t exactly stepping up to offer her anything beyond a good old-fashioned bang-and-bolt. Derry was a decent guy.

Rumors swirled that he was ex-military, maybe a Navy SEAL. Not the most sparkling conversationalist but he seemed dependable and trustworthy. Real husband material. He’d make a good father to Evan while Tad was barely good enough to be uncle.

The idea of another guy soothing Evan to sleep or holding him when he was upset distressed Tad almost as much as the notion of Jules with someone else. With Derry.

Shit.

“I want to show you something,” he said to her back. “Wait here a sec.” Thirty seconds later, he placed a black binder on the counter before her.

“It’s a guide to all the wines we have in the cellar.”Our cellar.“The selection is small enough right now that it can fit, but we could always add to it. I was creating it as a training tool for the staff and then I thought…” He trailed off, unsure how to complete that sentence. A pang of discomfort pinched his chest but it was too late to undo this.

Placing the knife down carefully, she flipped open the binder, her tight stance a brace against an encyclopedia of words beyond her understanding.

“It’s a picture book,” she gasped.

He had printed off images for all the labels and paired them with a legend for that wine’s characteristics. A globe for “earthy,” a lemon for “citrus,” a jar for “jammy,” and so on. She had an excellent memory and once she had committed the key to that quick-as-a-fox brain of hers, he was confident she’d have it down.

“You’re a visual person so this method might work better for you.” Dyslexics tended to see pictures instead of words and were more likely to perceive with all the senses. They also liked routines, but they got frustrated easily. Becoming a stellar chef like her brothers might seem difficult on the surface but she had innate abilities that just needed to be encouraged. He wanted to be the one to help her realize all that potential.

Not Derry Fucking Jones.

“Tad, I…” Eyes shining bright with emotion, she raised a couple of fingers to her mouth and took a harsh breath.

Instinctively he pulled her in his arms, something he had taken pains to avoid since that night a year ago when he had almost lost himself in her. As always, touching her brewed up a storm of sensation that threatened to make landfall and decimate his last defenses. He gasped for air, got a lungful of her. She smelled like heaven, if heaven smelled like oranges and summer and home.

Shut up, brain.

“Jules, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She rested her forehead against his shoulder and it was so perfect that he had to suppress a whimper. Or a grunt, not a whimper. He never whimpered.

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