Page 44 of Love on the Line

Crap. So, he found it strange, too? “Yeah. I mean, he suggested it because the restaurant was closer to both of us than the hospital.”

Wyatt dusted his hands off and placed them on the counter. Her gaze stalled on his strong forearms, making her mind go to mush.

“I get that you might need to exchange some paperwork or whatever, but how does dinner fit in?”

Hell if she knew. The whole conversation had made her uncomfortable. And now her back was up. “He was being considerate of my time, that’s all.”

“What’s this guy’s name?”

Annoyance burned her stomach lining. Wyatt hadn’t told her about his charity event picture with the super model, so he had no right to question Anne’s volunteer work. “Why does his name matter?”

Wyatt blew out a breath. “It doesn’t. I’m sorry. I’m just not used to…”

“What?” She crossed her arms.

He pressed his fingers to his forehead and then straightened. “Nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing, but she wasn’t about to push the issue since she had her own doubts.

“Never mind.” He turned back around. “Let’s not spoil the night. I promised to make you a nice dinner. This is your night off from cooking.”

She took a sip of wine as he picked up a jar of Ragu, spinning it to read the back label. “I hope this turns out okay. I’m following the recipe.”

She choked.

His gaze darted to her. “You okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” She covered her mouth with a hand to hide the smile.

He cocked his head and gave her an I-don’t-know-what’s-up look before returning to his “recipe” scrutiny.

Yeah, she didn’t know what was up either. But this bad-ass football player who couldn’t tell a frying pan from a sauce pot was stepping out of his comfort zone for her. Warmth spread through her. Of course he didn’t know how to make a marinara. But it was precious that he was trying so hard and wanted his dinner to turn out just right.

With a frown, he put the jar down. “I guess I’ll boil the noodles first so they’re ready.”

Uh oh. They’d turn into a cold lump of glue. Anne straightened in her chair and suggested, “Maybe warm the sauce first so it can simmer while the noodles are cooking?”

Wyatt paused, holding the tiny pot in his hand. “Okay. I guess I’ll at least fill this with water so it’s ready.”

She eyed the small saucepan. It would boil over when he cooked the pasta and make a huge mess. He’d feel like crap. She got up, went to the cabinet where he kept his cookware, and opened the door. “That’s too small. Let me find something bigger for you to use.”

“It’ll be fine. I’m going to break up the noodles so they fit. Now, go sit down and relax.”

“No, you don’t understand.” She dragged out a larger pot. “You need a lot of water because pasta is a starch and expands when you boil it. If you—”

“What are you doing?” He took the pot from her and shut the door. “Who’s making this dinner, me or you?”

She flinched, and heat rushed to her face. “I’m just trying to help because—”

“I think it might be better if you don’t finish that sentence.” Wyatt raised an eyebrow and shoved a hand on his hip.

Great. Now she’d pissed him off. “I don’t know why you’re all mad at me. I realize you’re not used to cooking and just want to make sure your meal turns out okay.”

“Well, you’re treating me like one of your students, not an adult. If I want help, I’ll ask for it.”

He stared down at her, a frown on his face.

“Fine.” She stomped back to the table and plopped on the chair. Let him mess up to his heart’s delight. He could actually learn something if he listened to her.

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