Page 91 of Renard's Deliverance

“There’s coffee, bread, and creamer.”

He moved to stand on the other side of the table, frowning down at her. “Coffee and creamer aren’t food.”

“Well, they come from a grocery store,” she grumbled. “And they’re one of my main food groups.”

“You don’t eat enough. I’m gonna order some groceries.”

“There’s no point,” she told him. “It will go to waste.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t cook.”

He blinked. “At all?”

Opal shrugged, trying not to let her embarrassment show. “I can cook toast and pop tarts and stuff. Make a sandwich. I can microwave frozen meals. But I guess that’s about it. There was just never anyone to teach me.”

“Well, now there is.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re going to teach me to cook?”

“Yes. Why do you look surprised? I’m a good cook.”

“I don’t doubt that. It’s just, um, well, not sure you’d be the best teacher.”

“And why is that?” he drawled.

“Well, you’re not exactly a patient person. And maybe having you teach me to cook wouldn’t be the best idea when we’re in a . . . in a relationship.”

Was that the best way to describe what they were doing?

“You think I’ll yell at you?”

“You won’t?”

“Only one way to find out. But I can be patient . . . when I want to be.”

She wasn’t so sure she believed him.

“You look doubtful, but you’ll see.”

A knock on the door had him frowning before he turned and stomped toward it.

“Hey!” she called out. “This is my house.”

“Who’re you?” Renard demanded as he opened the door.

The jerk.

Getting up, she followed him.

“Um, hello. I’m Ned. I live a few doors down. Is Opal here?”

“Hey, Ned! Yep, I’m here.” She tried to shove Renard away, but he was like a brick wall.

Turning, Renard frowned at her. “Stop pushing me. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I, um, Opal,” Ned said. “I was wondering if you could help me with my tablet.”

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