Page 25 of Objection to Love

“Yes, in fact.” He smiled over at her, leaning back in his chair. “But, luckily, I’m capable of eating pretty much any pizza.”

That’s unfortunate.

Garrett laughed, and Em went hot. She must have said that last part out loud.

“I’m going to assume that since you invited me in, you don’t really mean that.”

“Want something to drink?” She set the plates on the peninsula.

His laughter settled into a relaxed smile as he leaned a hip against her counter and crossed his arms. “Water is fine, thanks.”

She filled two cups with water, setting one down and pushing it toward him. He took it with a quiet “thank you.”

He waited for her to grab a slice of pizza, then pulled two onto his own plate. She had only gotten a single bite in before he started talking again.

“So, whyareyou home early today? That’s two days in a row.”

Em shrugged. “I didn’t have that much work.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I hate people who can do that, you know. I tried to learn for the longest time.”

“What? Raise one eyebrow?”

“Mm-hmm.” She took another bite.

Garrett alternately raised his left brow, then his right in quick succession until Em was covering her mouth with a hand and trying not to laugh.

“Some of us are just incredibly skilled.” He winked. “Almost as skilled as you are at deflecting.”

“It’s not a skill I was aware of until I met you.”

“You’re still deflecting.” He tore off a bite of his pizza.

Em sighed. “Fine. A bunch of people at work, including my boss, went out for karaoke tonight.”

Garrett nodded slowly. “Ah. And they didn’t invite you.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway, sweeping a few crumbs from the table as she did. “Yup.”

He finished off his first slice and brushed his hands together, leaning back in his chair. “So, have you reconsidered our deal then?”

Em looked casually out the large picture window above the sink, mulling over the question. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I guess it would depend on the reward.” She attempted to mimic the teasing tone he’d adopted so often, but it felt—and sounded—off. Luckily, he didn’t comment on it.

“What about a trophy?”

She glanced back at him. “I don’t like knickknacks.”

He looked around the kitchen with a discerning eye. “Clearly. How long have you lived here?”

“Three years.”

“Yikes. Remind me to never ask you to decorate my house.”

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