Page 26 of Let It Breathe
“That depends. Do you still make scrambled eggs that taste like mortar paste?”
She smiled a little, not sure if it was the joke or the fact that she finally had evidence that she had changed at least a little in the past few years. “For your information, I took a bunch of continuing ed classes last year—mostly on wine pairings, but I did a cooking one, too. I’m now a perfectly adequate cook.”
“In that case, I’d love breakfast.”
“Good,” she said, moving toward the door. “My house is the little place right next door.”
“That tiny building? I didn’t know that was a house.”
“What did you think it was?”
He shrugged. “I saw all the signs that said it was private property and not open to the public. Figured it was Axl’s bomb shelter or something.”
Reese laughed. “No, this company called Idea Box makes these super-efficient prefab homes that are really environmentally friendly. Perfect for someone living alone.”
“Huh,” he said. “That’s not what I pictured you in.”
The thought that Clay had pictured her at all over the last few years was enough to make her pulse kick up a notch, and she wondered what he’d imagined, exactly. “I’m reducing my carbon footprint. It’s eight hundred and fifty square feet, has bamboo flooring, energy-efficient appliances, contemporary cabinets, a built-in wine cooler, the whole package. Why? Are you going to pick on the construction?”
“Not at all. I might pick on you for putting your home forty feet from your job.”
Reese shrugged. “I like it. It’s a beautiful place, and it’s convenient.”
“That it is,” he agreed as she opened the door and led the way inside.
The home was designed to be tiny, but it looked even smaller with Clay planted in the center of her living room. Even her furniture looked miniscule.
Reese stepped away from him, moving toward the kitchen. “The bathroom is over there if you want to wash up. I’ve got pesto and tomatoes—how about an omelet?”
“Perfect.”
“Do you like chicken apple sausage?”
He grinned. “Remind me to build things for you more often.”
He brushed past her as he headed for the bathroom, and Reese shivered at the heat radiating from his bare arms.
She retreated toward the kitchen and began pulling things out of the refrigerator—cheese, eggs, orange juice. She opened the little container of pesto and frowned. Did pesto have alcohol in it? She couldn’t remember if this one had white wine as an ingredient, but did that make it unsafe to serve an alcoholic? She studied the product information on the back of the container. No mention of wine. She sniffed it.
“Why does it seem like a bad sign that you’re sniffing the food?” Clay asked as he returned to the kitchen and leaned against the counter.
Reese jumped and set the pesto down. “It’s fine,” she stammered. “I was just checking—just making sure it’s okay to serve you.”
He gave her a funny look but didn’t comment. Reese opened the egg carton and reached for her skillet.
“Let me dice the tomatoes,” he said, moving around her to grab the cutting board from beside the fridge. “Where’s your knife?”
“I’ve got it—You don’t have to do that.”
“You can trust me with sharp objects, Reese. This drawer?”
“No, that one over there.” She reached past him, her arm brushing his chest as she moved to hand it to him. She almost dropped it on the floor. She turned and reached into the cupboard above the stove, pulling out a plate.
“Here, you can put them on this,” she said.
“Thank you.”
He fell quiet as he began dicing, the knife making squishy noises as it sliced through the tomato flesh. “I don’t remember you being this jumpy,” he said finally.
