Page 23 of Back in the Saddle

“Well, perhaps the production team should have made a smaller door so people wouldn’t obsess about it for decades after the movie was released. But for the most part, I think there are much larger things in this world to give a shit about. So…no.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, and I felt that word, and the softness he used, flit over my skin.

To combat the feeling, I remarked, “That said, Jack did try to get on the door. I suppose they could have kept trying, but then Rose might’ve fallen off. And the impending hypothermia could have taken them both. So, if forced to have an opinion, I think people should just get over it.”

“Yeah,” he repeated.

“So…Titanic?” I prompted.

“Works for me.” He tossed the remote my way. “Queue it up. I’m getting more crumble.”

He was doing what?

“Are you serious?”

He’d put his feet to the ground in order to get up, but my question stopped him, and his head turned my way. “Yeah, why?”

“How do you maintain that body with extra portions of stuffing and crumble?”

“How do you maintain your body while obviously eating out all the time?”

Did this mean he liked my body?

I didn’t ask.

I answered, “I have a job where I’m on my feet nine hours of the day.”

“And I have a job where, if I don’t keep fit, my ass could be in a sling.”

“Are you saying your job is dangerous?”

“I’m saying, if it turned that way and I was out of shape, I’d be shit out of luck. So I prefer to take luck out of the equation.”

“So you’re saying you don’t feel the need to unbutton your pants.”

His expression changed, I felt it in my nipples, and his voice flowed over me like velvet when he replied, “Not yet.”

Wait.

Was he…

Flirting?

“I take it this discussion means you’re a no for more crumble,” he noted.

Okay.

Freakout averted.

He wasn’t flirting.

Just hopeful thinking.

“Is me switching into lounge pants also a compliment to the chef?”

His black eyes twinkled. “Yeah.”

“Spoon it up, big man. I’m gonna go change.”

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