Page 68 of Her Passionate Hero

“How big of a sandwich?”

He looked up at her and winked. “I’m a growing boy.”

“Big sandwich coming up.”

When she set the plate in front of him, he raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to have anything?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Did you eat anything when you came in earlier?”

“No, I went to bed. I wasn’t feeling well.”

“When was the last time you’ve eaten?”

She thought about it. “I had a snack before you picked me up.”

“What?”

“A banana.”

“No wonder you’re so slim.” He got up from the table. “Do you want a mug of cocoa?”

Now that she thought about it, that sounded good. “What about a piece of cake?”

“No, that’s too sweet.”

“Some toast?”

She started to push up from the table. Toast sounded really good, especially with peanut butter. Peanut butter toast with hot chocolate. Heaven.

“The lady wants toast,” he chuckled. “Don’t you dare get up. Sit your tushie back down, I’m making it.”

“I want peanut butter on my toast,” she called out.

“Done.”

She watched him putz around the kitchen, he was very efficient. He only had to open two cabinets to find the peanut butter and bread. He had the toast up in no time.

“Here you go,” he said, placing the cocoa and toast in front of her. He sat back down beside her. Up was down, and black was white. She was being an idiot because after spending twenty minutes in the car trying to push him away, she was happy they were sitting so close, their legs were touching. She definitely needed Lottie’s professional services.

She watched as he took his first bite of the sandwich.

“Avocados, this is fantastic, Alia. Do you cook?”

“Yep. Mom taught me. I make a lot of Czechoslovakian dishes, but when I was in college, I shared an apartment my senior year with a girl, and she and I experimented with a lot of Italian and good old-fashioned meat and potatoes types of food. I think we got good at it. Of course, when Maminka came to live with me, I started cooking Czechoslovakian again.”

“Would I like that?”

“I don’t know. We use a whole different spice pallet than Mexican food.”

“Will you cook for me?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Great, it’s a date,” he smiled.

“You don’t let up, do you?”