Page 14 of Show Off

“Can I offer you anything?”

Dal lifts an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Uh, let’s see.” I open a cupboard at random, instantly wishing I’d picked a different one. “Ruffles chips. Shoestring potato stix. These things called finger fries that I swear aren’t made with fingers.” I glance over my shoulder to see him eyeing me warily. “I found them at the Asian market in Portland.”

Dal gives me a stone-faced stare. “You’ve got a thing for potatoes?”

“Apparently.” I shift some things around to see what’s behind the potato snacks.Morepotato snacks. “There’s also?—”

“I’ll pass.” There’s the faintest hint of laughter in his voice. “You really eat all that crap?”

“Don’t judge.” I try the next cupboard over. “How about peppermint tea, a brick of Godiva chocolate, or a glass of excellent Sangiovese?”

“Vineyard?”

Leave it to a chef to be picky. “It’s from Dancin’ over in Southern Oregon.”

“That.” Dal shoves off the door. “And the chocolate.” A pause as he clears his throat. “Please.”

I busy myself piling chocolate on the plate, wondering if I should stack it or spread it artfully around. I’m conscious of his eyes on my back, on the fact that he’s still hovering near the door. “Am I serving this in the foyer so you can dine and dash, or would you like to sit down on the sofa?”

He grumbles something but moves to the couch. When I carry the plate to the coffee table, I have to step around mile-long legs.

“Nice place.” He surveys my living room as I set the plate down. “Haven’t been in too many other cabins.”

“You’ve got a three-bedroom unit, right?” It’s one of our wheelchair-friendly cabins, with space for a home office. “I helped set it up before you moved in.”

He nods and takes the glass of wine I offer. “Yep.”

I know better than to ask yes or no questions. What’s something Dal might feel safe chatting about?

“Tell me about Mouse.”

There’s that lip quirk again. “You mean my secret garden lover?”

“Shut up.” I smile like a great big dork. “You’ve gotta admit, it sounded like something else.”

“Maybe if you have a dirty mind.” He sets down his glass and watches with eyes so deep brown they’re nearly black. “I’d expect nothing less from a woman with your mug collection.”

He’s noticed my mugs? “Which one is your favorite?”

“Tough call.” He picks a piece of chocolate off the plate. “It’s a toss-up between ‘It’s too early for you to say things,’ and ‘Eat a bag of dicks.’”

“For the record, I don’t take the dirty ones in public.” Much. He must’ve seen it somewhere. “My favorite never leaves this house.”

Dal looks intrigued. “What does it say?”

My mistake for bringing this up. “‘Hotter than a blistered dick in a wool sock.’” I shrug when he gives me the side-eye. “It’s insulated. Keeps the coffee extra hot.”

“Huh.” He picks up his glass for a slow sip of wine. “Mouse came from Korea.”

“Oh.” I’d already moved on, assuming he wouldn’t answer my question. “Is she some kind of special breed?”

He laughs, but not with much humor. “She came from a meat farm.”

“A meat—oh.” Yikes. “You mean Mouse was bred to be…” I trail off, not entirely sure what dish might include dog meat.

“The South Korean government passed a law not long ago to phase out dog meat, but it’s still a thing.” His dark eyes look troubled, which stirs something in my chest. “I was there seeing family, but got roped into a chef FAM.”

---