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She poured herself another glass of iced tea, made a salad from the greens and veggies she'd picked up at the farmer's market, and sliced the bread, putting them all on the kitchen island. Maybe they'd eat inside after cooking the steaks. It was much cooler.
A knock sounded, and she peered through the side window. Ryan, wearing a T-shirt and another pair of cargo shorts. He had such great legs, despite the scars. "Come on in."
He smiled, but it looked a little forced, and it died quickly. "Thanks. Where can I put this stuff?" His sandals thunked against the stone floor.
"How about the kitchen counter?" She was trying to read his mood, but as usual, he was a vault.
"Thanks." He padded into her kitchen, pulling out a plastic bag with steaks and marinade, a six-pack of local beer, and a bag of salad. Guess he wasn't kidding about that.
"I went to the farmer's market today, so why don't you put the salad and beer in the fridge?"
"Okay." He turned to her with the steaks. "Grill and tongs? And a plate?"
Erin grabbed a plate and led the way out to the patio. "Tongs are out here." She fired up the grill and showed him where everything was.
"Wow, you've got a complete kitchen out here."
"No running water but everything else. Can I get you something to drink while you're grilling?"
He fiddled with the grill. "Just some water, please."
"Sure." She went back inside and got water and ice from the fridge. Guess we're back to short answers again. "How's the move going?"
"Okay. Got everything clean and put up." He coughed from the smoke caused by the marinade burning off and quickly closed the grill cover, glancing at his watch.
"Do you need a timer? There's one in the drawer."
"Got it. Medium rare?"
"Perfect." She stood there for a few moments, waiting to see if he’d say anything, but he didn’t. "Kind of hot out here, so do you want to eat inside?"
"Sure."
Erin went back inside to get plates and silverware. She didn't know what was wrong, but something was off. But she couldn't figure out a lot of Michael's silences either, especially after his last tour. The tour before he died, anyway. Enough, Erin. Let's not go back down that road.
Erin pulled two beers from the fridge and a couple of glasses from the freezer, although Ryan would probably drink it from the bottle. Finishing the salad, she put it and the bread on the table, too. Then she washed up the few things she'd used, to keep busy.
Ryan brought the sizzling steaks to the table. They both sat down, Ryan plopping a steak on her plate and swapping out the clean plate in front of him for the plate he'd used for the steaks.
"No sense in dirtying another plate. Besides, all the juice is on here." He winked and grinned at her, grabbing a piece of bread and soaking it.
She smiled back at him and cut a piece of steak. The knife slid easily through, juices pooling, and the scent made her mouth water. Tender and flavorful. "Oh, this is good."
"Should be. Got it from Marcus Meats." He was staring at her. At her... mouth? She wiped her chin, in case she'd missed something. He blinked and went back to his steak.
"They have good stuff." She took another bite. Delicious.
They ate in silence for a while. Ryan abruptly asked, "Are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah. I ended up with some bruises—a deputy took pictures today."
Ryan's hand clenched, and he glared at the table. "Wish I'd done more than pull him off. Should have pounded the guy into the ground." His jaw was so tight he snarled the words.
"I'm glad you didn't because I'd be bailing you out of jail. And you'd be perpetuating the stereotype of the veteran who freaks out and goes ballistic. That's how the Custs would sell it." Erin shook her head. "No, your response was perfect."
His mouth twisted. "Yeah, maybe. But not as satisfying as pounding that rat."
She laughed. Ryan stared at her incredulously, then joined her. She figured he'd see the humor, eventually.
