Page 25 of The Love Hoax
“Right, we didn’t actually eat anything, did we?”
I shake my head, realizing that despite the relaxed environment, the heavy fatigue I felt earlier is lifting. It’s him.
Immediately I push away the ridiculous notion. Adam is way too young for me to consider in any romantic sort of way.
Not that I am considering it. I am not on the market. I’m only here to rest and work out how to help him . . . fool his family.
Aware how strange that is, I follow Adam into the kitchen, wondering if the evening will turn any more bizarre.
Chapter Seventeen
Evie
Adam pulls a few items from the fridge. A block of blue cheese, a carton of free-range eggs, portobello mushrooms, and string onions. “How does an omelet sound?” he asks, looking perfectly at ease in the kitchen.
I take a seat on the barstool next to the marble island. “Heavenly.”
“I’ve got a loaf of French bread in the basket behind you. Mind cutting a few slices?”
French bread? The guy is curiouser and curiouser. It takes some effort to gel this Adam with the rugged five-o’clock-shadow, Honda-driving version I hung out with on the trail and in the bar. The one smirking while his friend lost at pool. Apparently, he’s more than just that guy. He’s also a mega-loaded, sexy, unattached computer whiz who buys French bread and stinky cheese. If ever there was a time when looks were deceiving, it’s now.
I reach for the long loaf. It smells divine. “Where do you find fresh artisanal bread out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“I have them delivered.”
I suspect it’s a very bougie service that delivers fresh bread to his door. In the middle of Yosemite National Park.
I find a bread knife in the sleek cutlery drawer and begin slicing.
Actually, the entire kitchen is exactly that. Sleek. Surfaces and cabinetry are all clean lines with not a handle to be seen. You simply push on the surface and it glides opens. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass cabinet.
Yikes.
I redo my ponytail. As if that will make a difference. I look like a woman who has hiked all day and experienced a near-traumatic event.
“Um, I really could use a hot shower.”
Adam stops chopping the vegetables and looks up at me, concern in his eyes. “Oh, right.”
I look at the bruises on his arms. Since the fall on the mountaintop, they have turned new shades of purple.
We’re both shellshocked. Neither of us considered washing up. Hunger has taken precedence.
“I’m really sorry,” Adam says, his forehead furrowed as if silently chastising himself for the oversight. “Come on. The eggs can wait. I’ll show you to the guest room.”
I nod, grabbing a slice of bread on the way out the door, gobbling it up in two bites.
Adam stops at the end of the wide corridor and pauses, seemingly sizing me up.
I feel a flutter in my belly. When three seconds pass without a word, I ask, “Earth to Adam . . . can I help you?”
He shifts his eyes up to meet mine. “I was just trying to see if you’d fit into my pjs.”
I swallow hard, picturing myself in his pajama top while he wears the matching bottoms.
Jeez, I need to snap out of it.
“Maybe your baker can also deliver a new wardrobe,” I goad while trying to erase the sexy image from my mind. But he does have a valid point. I have none of my clothes with me. They are all back at the hotel. A very long drive away.
