Page 29 of Lessons in Heartbreak

Because I was reading. In a million years, no one would ever believe me.

Reaching up, I punched a button on the exhaust fan set inside the massive vent hood. I fumbled with some of the smaller drawers on each side of the stove until I found the oven mitts. My eyes were watering from the smoke even before I wrenched open the door, and it poured out in a billowing wave.

“Oh, fuck me,” I groaned. The pork tenderloin—perfectly tied and dressed with fancy-looking herbs—was charred to a blackened crisp but not actually on fire, thank God. It was the juice and oil surrounding the meat on the baking tray that smoked ominously.

The smoke alarm in the family room went off shortly after the pork came out of the oven, and I started pressing any button I could reach in hopes that something magical would happen.

“How do you turn off?” I growled. “You shouldn’t need a PhD to operate this thing.”

My big thumbs accidentally started the broiler, and then finally, finally, hit the correct button on the stupid little screen.

With a glorious beep, the oven turned off. I waved the oven mitts over the baking pan, dissipating some of the smoke, then did the same thing in front of the smoke alarm in the kitchen.

“God, this better not have the fire department showing up at the house,” I muttered.

Almost immediately, my phone started ringing. I was still in the midst of waving the oven mitts around to shut the stupid alarms up, and the sight of Steven’s name on my home screen made me wince.

A text came through. Then another. Then another. Each consecutive chime on my phone managed to sound angrier than the one before. Setting my jaw, I jogged over to the large walk-in pantry and pulled out the broom tucked into the corner. After settling my weight carefully onto a dining chair, I waved the broom in front of the family room smoke alarm, wafting the air back and forth until it cleared enough that the screaming noise stopped.

I blew out a hard sigh and tossed the broom onto the floor, then yanked open the folding doors so that some fresh air could clear out the remainder of the smoke. Hands on my hips, I glanced down with a frown. I must’ve gotten some of the oil from the pork on the mitts and then on my shirt.

With the brimstone-and-fire smell finally easing in the room, I peeled my ruined shirt off and tossed it toward the hallway that led to the laundry room.

Still had to figure out how to use that.

At home, things like laundry were always taken care of by my housekeeper, Eileen—a glorious, matronly woman from Scotland to whom I paid a small fortune to keep me fed and my house clean. I was also paying her a large fortune to move with me to Denver, a move made easier by the fact that her only son had moved to Colorado fiveyears earlier, and the only reason she stayed in New York was because of how much I paid her.

Just as I was going to change into a new shirt and then reassure Steven that I was not, in fact, burning his house down, the doorbell rang, and I winced again.

It was either the Welling Springs Fire Department or Ruby. It was a toss-up of which option was less intimidating. I’d look like an idiot either way, but at least with the fire department, I stood a chance of recovery. With Ruby? Not so much.

A glance through the front window showed not big red fire trucks, but a nondescript white sedan.

As I jogged to the door, I couldn’t help but grin as I pictured her horrified face when I’d asked her over for dinner. In fact, I’d never met a woman less impressed with me in my entire life.

Not sure what it said about my mental state that I was so fucking excited by that. And as I pulled open the door to greet her, that smile died immediately when I caught a glimpse of her face.

“What’s wrong?”

Her eyes were glued on my chest. “Why are you shirtless?”

She saidshirtlesswith such disgust and horror that, for a split second, I felt the need to cover my chest with the oven mitts. Then I remembered that I’d been voted Best NFL Body three years in a row and took a deep breath, flexing my abs a little as I adjusted my stance.

“Oh.” I glanced down. “I kinda burned our dinner and got some oil splattered on my shirt in the process of trying not to burn the house down.”

She blinked. “Okay.” Her eyes rose to mine. “Can you go put a shirt on, please?”

“Your wish is my command, birdy.”

She rolled her eyes.

With a laugh, I backed up, opening the door to let her into the house. Quietly, she entered, eyes wide as she took in the open living, dining, and kitchen areas.

“Not bad, right?”

Ruby sighed heavily as she preceded me into the room. My eyes surreptitiously tracked over her clothing choice for drinks with Jimmy the hooker. Same outfit she’d worn earlier at work, and even with a slightly too-big skirt, she still managed to fit neatly into the category of librarian fetish, if that was someone’s kink.

Not mine, of course. But ... someone’s.

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