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“Man of many words,” she says with a smile and a roll of her eyes. “One thing hasn’t changed much.”
I grunt in response, hoping she’ll laugh. She does, and I fight back a smile. “I saw you filming today.”
“Yeah—and?”
“It didn’t look so bad,” I admit. Right after practice, she filmed a segment with Tucker and Dumbo on the bench, holding and discussing a book. It was quick, and looked mostly like they were talking to each other and then faking a fight. “Though I don’t get how books are involved.”
Her cheeks flush and she focuses hard on the soup she’s stirring. “Hockey romance is a big thing. I’m trying to reach a crossover audience of readers as well. But while keeping with our, um, family friendly vibe, just considering our target audience.”
I frown, wondering what’s in the books that wouldn’t be family friendly. And does Parker read hockey romance?
“Anyway,” Parker says, obviously trying to steer us away from the topic of romance novels. “You should watch some of our videos sometime. Maybe you’d be surprised.”
“That would mean actually getting on social media.”
“You’re such an old man.”
“Get off my lawn,” I say, and she laughs again. It’s so easy with her. Conversation. Making her smile and laugh. Just being present and not feeling any kind of pressure to be or do anything other than me.
“How is it being back in Harvest Hollow?” she asks.
Okay, now we’re moving into less easy territory. I shift in my chair. “I didn’t think I’d ever come back,” I say honestly. “It’s an adjustment.”
“Your mom moved, right?” she asks.
“Florida.” My voice is clipped, and Parker must read my reaction, because there are no follow-up questions.
Instead, she sets a bowl in front of me. I stare down at it for a few seconds, blinking as I take in the sight and the spicy aroma.
“I know,” she says, taking the seat across the small table from me. “It’s just cheap ramen and has almost zero nutritional value.”
She thinks I’m disappointed?I just sat and watched her chop things and doctor up a cheap meal to make it something else.
“This looks great,” I say.
Honestly, it does. What’s more, I don’t remember the last time someone so much as microwaved a burrito for me. At least, someone who wasn’t a paid employee.
“You’ll need to stop somewhere later for more protein to feed”—she glances across the table, her gaze sweeping over me as a blush paints her cheeks—“all that.”
I chuckle. “My abs really did come up short in your exam, huh?”
My teasing sounds flirty. And I never flirt. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. But something appears to be broken. Parker huffs and tosses a piece of ice at me from her glass. I catch it and pop it in my mouth with a smile.
She bites her lip, her smile fading. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?”
I watch her across the table that barely fits us both. Parker blows out a breath, then glances out the window next to us that looks down over Maple Street.
“You don’t have to try to make me feel better about my stupid, cheap dinner. I’m sure you’re used to gourmet everything and perfectly proportioned, healthy pro athlete meals. Not basic ramen.”
“Parker.” I wait, not speaking until she turns those brown eyes back to me. “You took a dollar pack of ramen and made it an actual meal. I’m kind of amazed, actually. Thank you.”
Even though I sat at this table and watched, I’m still not sure how Parker transformed the cheap package of dried noodles intothis. There’s chili oil and garlic, green onion sliced thinly on top, and even a soft-boiled egg. It looks almost as good as restaurant quality ramen. She even served it in unique bowls that look handmade and a set of fancy chopsticks. Not the kind you get free and throw away afterward.
“I mean it.” My voice might be a little too gruff.
Which I realize only when she rears back a little, her brown eyes wide. But then her expression softens. The smallest smile appears, dragging my gaze to her lips. I force my attention back to her eyes.
