Page 40 of A Dream for Daphne

“They can go fuck themselves.” She laughed. “Those people probably don’t swear either. I tend to do it more than I should. Comes from being around a crew of men.”

“I have no problem with it,” she said. “I don’t swear often, which comes from being around kids, but there was plenty of it in my house growing up.”

“How about we make a deal?” he said as he unloaded the food from the bag.

“What kind of deal?” she asked.

“That we both stop thinking less of ourselves and start thinking about how great we are.”

She angled her head. “Deal.”

14

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“Can you hand me the chicken?” she asked.

She was oddly touched by what Abe had just said to her. No one had ever encouraged her like that before.

Not true. Aster had.

Her brother always encouraged her to be the best she could.

“I didn’t know I had to help cook,” Abe said, bumping his hip into hers. “You should have said that.”

The fresh clean scent of him floated around with that movement. She didn’t think he put much on other than soap, but it was crisp and refreshing.

She’d take that any day over cologne on a man.

“Would you have told me not to come if I said you had to help?” she asked playfully. “Or would you have just come into my house and not worried that you might be tracking dirt?”

“I wouldn’t tell you no, that you couldn’t come. Just that I should have been given some notice,” he said, winking at her. He flexed his fingers out in front, then shook his head pretending to crack his neck. “Meal prep takes concentration and I’ve got to get in a good head space for it.”

“Now you’re being silly,” she said, swatting his arm. She wasn’t sure she would have expected this of him.

Not the man who didn’t say much in the casino after they’d gotten to the hotel room.

Heck, she hadn’t talked either.

She didn’t want to.

She didn’t want anything to stop what she was going to do.

“Maybe a little,” he said. “But I’m not the best cook. I could get performance anxiety and ruin something.”

She squinted one eye at him. “I don’t think you have it in you for that.”

“Not the way you might be thinking,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “Okay, what do you want me to help you with?”

“You can boil some water,” she said. “Think you can handle that?”

“That’s easy enough.” He walked over to a cabinet and opened it, pulled out a pot, then over to the sink and turned the hot water on. “What are you making?”

“It’s a creamy Cajun chicken dish. I like making things like this and it’s great for leftovers. Fast and easy too.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said.

“You can slice the peppers into strips and then the mushrooms if you like them.”

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