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“Tess?” I heard his deep voice just outside my door and my heart hammered into action. So much for normal.
“Yes, coming,” I called back, my own voice sounding high and bizarre, like a crazed squirrel. I stepped back out into the hallway to find him standing in a fitted white South Bay Sharks T-shirt, a pair of dark jeans, and his hair wet and pushed away from his face. He smelled like soap and something else I could only describe as absolute manly perfection. With a hint of mint.
“I’ll show you the kitchen,” I managed to say. I found it was easier to speak to him if I didn’t look at him. Or breathe. Or think too much. “We’ve got some leftovers from dinner.”
I turned and we went down the stairs, my hyperawareness of Ryan’s presence at my back making me feel dizzy and loopy. Still, we arrived in the long galley kitchen without incident, and I waved toward the little table at the side of the space.
“This house is amazing,” he said, wandering the length of the counter and peering out the windows toward the back yard. At the end of the counter were bags of flour and cans of cherries and a huge block of dark chocolate I’d gotten from the little chocolate store in Leonardtown. “And whatever is about to happen here looks pretty amazing, too.”
“Oh, that’s going to be a cake,” I told him. “If I can figure out how to actually bake.”
He looked over his shoulder at me, shooting me a smile that might have actually caused my panties to disintegrate.
I was so screwed.
“I’m a decent baker, actually,” he said.
“Really?”
“Black forest cake?” He asked, holding up a can of cherries.
“Gran’s favorite.” I was leaning against the counter next to the refrigerator, my arms crossed over my chest as I considered him. I didn’t really need new reasons to appreciate the man, but if he could actually help me make the cake I’d promised Gran, I might be willing to add baking to the things I loved about him. “I ordered a bunch of decorations to put on top… but the actual making of the cake might be a little beyond me. I can cook. But baking…”
“Consider it done,” he said, putting down the can and smiling. “Maybe I can earn my keep here for the weekend.”
I was about to respond when I heard some kind of commotion coming from the east wing of the house, just to the other side of the kitchen. Chessy was upset about something. “Ah, just a minute,” I told Ryan, turning to find out what had the hen indignant at this late hour.
I found her clucking outside one of the bedrooms I’d set up for the security team, pacing back and forth. She stopped when she saw me, squinting up at me.
“You’re coming on too strong,” I told her. “You can’t throw yourself at him. And you can’t force your way into his room, Chess.” I scooped her up, and she settled against my chest, seeming to accept my chicken-crush wisdom. “Let him get some sleep,” I suggested. “You can charm him tomorrow.”
I carried Chessy back to the little dog bed where she slept, which I’d tucked beneath an end table in the parlor when I’d moved Gran’s computer. We’d have to move this before the magazine people showed up too, I realized.
Back in the kitchen, Ryan was poking around, investigating things. He looked so handsome with his slicked back hair, his strong broad chest. I could have just watched him forever. But he caught me staring.
“That sounded… odd,” he said, the bright smile lighting his eyes.
“That was Chessy. Gran’s pet chicken.”
Ryan nodded. “Pet chicken. Right.”
“What? You don’t have a pet chicken that lives inside your house and develops misplaced crushes on the security teams that pop in ahead of your famous sister?” I grinned.
“No, I do not,” he said. “I’ll look into that. Hadn’t considered chickens as possible pets.”
I looked around to make sure Chessy hadn’t followed me in. “I don’t recommend them. Very needy.”
He chuckled, and then looked back toward the cake supplies. “So do I get to bake?”
“You don’t have to, but it would actually be amazing to have help. You wouldn’t think it would be a big deal, but the cake has to be really big, and I’m not very confident. I watched a YouTube video, though, so it’s probably a sure thing.”
“Well, then I’m sure you’d nail it.” He moved closer to me, that smile still working it’s magic on every female part of my body from my earlobes to my pinkie toes. I felt like I was humming. Inside. With my vagina.
“Great. Okay. Um… I made pasta for Gran tonight, is that okay?” I worried for a minute he might be on one of those Hollywood diets Juliet had told me about before. Keto or vegan or non-GMO or non-soy, or all kale all the time, or… something different than the stuff I made for Gran.
“I love pasta,” he said, and the words sounded genuine.
“Go ahead and sit,” I said, again finding it was easier to talk to him if I ignored the devastating smile. And the face that went with it. “I’ll just heat it up real quick. Do you want a beer or something?”
