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“Sit and rest your ankle,” he says, pulling out a chair from my dining table and waiting for me to move.
“I can help cook.” My hand finds my hip, feeling defiant.
“Why do you always have to be so argumentative?” he asks with a sigh.
“Argumentative? Why do you always have to be so demanding?” I ask, my voice rising. He walks up to where I am standing with the look of warning in his eyes.
“Just remember, I did ask nicely.”
“Wha—” I don’t get out the rest of the word because he picks me up bridal style, and I rush to grab his neck.
“Tanner!” I yell as I am swooped up in his arms.
“Well, I did ask nicely.” He smirks, and it almost makes me laugh.
“You’re incorrigible,” I murmur, but my hands relax around his neck. I feel it then. His thumb rubbing my back, like he did last night. It has me melting into his hold a little more.
“Maybe so, but you should rest your ankle. I don’t need to spend more time bandaging you up just because you won’t take it easy and decide climbing ladders is the smartest thing to do.” Leaning down, he places me on the chair. His hands run around my body, resting on my waist, and I lower my hands to cup his neck, but I don’t let go.
“Are you going to keep arguing with me every time I see you?” he asks, our lips a hair’s width apart. I can feel his hot breath on my skin. His eyes search mine, his face relaxed, yet his jaw still strong. All we need to do is lean into each other a little and we would kiss. I have no idea what is happening or how I feel about it. One minute, we are bickering, and the next, he’s caring for me and coming here with a new pair of boots and cooking me dinner.
“Probably…” I tell him with a small smirk as my eyes flick from his eyes to his lips and back again.Why do I want him to kiss me so much?
He grabs my leg, and sparks shoot up my thigh as his hands run down to my ankle and he ever so gently moves it onto the other chair, ensuring that it is elevated.
“That alright?” he asks as his eyes search mine once more, and I momentarily forget how to speak. “Does it hurt?”
“It’s fine. Swelling has gone,” I tell him breathily. He looks at my ankle and runs his thumb over it, his large warm hand still cupping it softly.
“It’s still a little bruised,” he murmurs with concern.
“It looks worse than it feels,” I assure him. This touching and close proximity is leaving me hot all over. I take in a breath and move my shirt a little to flap some air on my face because I feel beetroot red.
“Let me get dinner.” He steps away, and I blink a few times, wondering if that actually happened or was just my very vivid imagination.
“I called a builder friend of mine to come and look at your kitchen plans,” he says as he puts the pie into the oven to heat while my eyebrows shoot to my hairline.
“Really?” I ask, sitting up. “Could they help?” I don’t have a lot of options. Whispers and the nearby towns have a few people, but many of them are already booked with jobs for the next few months, and those that were available just didn’t get my vision.
“He will be here in a few days. He said he will take a look.” Tanner nods, moving around my kitchen with ease, pulling out plates and cutlery, napkins, and glasses. I can’t continue keeping my thoughts to myself.
“Why are you being so nice?” I ask him outright, and he stops what he is doing and looks at me, confused.
“How so?” he asks.
“You got me boots, you called your builder, and nowyou’re cooking me dinner.Again.I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me aside from you last night.”
He pauses, looking at me with a furrowed brow.
“What about that idiot ex of yours?” he asks, and I sigh.
“No, he never cooked. Never did anything, actually.” Now that I really think about it, our relationship was so one-sided; I have no idea why it lasted as long as it did.
“Asshole,” he murmurs, plating up the salad and pouring the wine.
“Total asshole,” I agree as he walks the glasses of wine to the table.
“Call it being neighborly,” he says, answering my question.
