Page 30 of Heating Up (Nugget)
He’d only been here a couple of days and was already making friends with the neighborhood children. To satisfy her curiosity, she went inside, opened the freezer and, as suspected, it was filled with Otter Pops. She was living with a twelve-year-old. She found a bottle of chardonnay in the refrigerator, uncorked it, and poured a glass. Taking it into the bedroom, she quickly stripped and slipped into a robe. She wanted to get in the tub before Aidan got home. No more hallway nudity.
As the bath filled, Dana took a few sips of wine, tested the water, and got in, resting her glass on the edge of the tub for easy access. Ms. Confidentiality had surprised her by coming in a day early. Apparently, she needed to get out of New York before another sordid story broke about her. Dana wasn’t clear on all the details, only that her client’s boyfriend was wanted by the feds and she planned to hide out at the Lumber Baron.
She wanted to start touring properties first thing in the morning. Clearly she hoped to hole up here until the media unearthed a new scandal about someone else. It was a shame she’d been mired in her boyfriend’s controversy because Dana found her show and books to be inspiring. Women all over the country did.
Dana soaked until her skin started to wrinkle, then got out and put on a pair of drawstring shorts and a cotton T-shirt. On her bed, she unrolled Colin’s plans and took the time to study them, trying to visualize the floor plan. She heard the front door open and close and, a short time later, the shower go on. And as much as she tried to concentrate on the blueprints, she kept seeing Aidan’s broad, naked chest from the other day. The towel wrapped around his narrow waist, barely concealing his butt. And those long, strong legs . . .
She got up and turned the air conditioner on. At the sound of the water stopping, she opened her door a crack, got her wineglass, and started for the kitchen just as Aidan came down the hall wearing nothing but that towel again. Little droplets of water glistened in his chest hair and Dana had to force her eyes up to keep from staring.
“You hungry?” he asked as they passed.
“I don’t eat after six.”
“Well, I’m making pasta if you want some.” He disappeared inside his bedroom before she could respond.
Who ate pasta at eight at night? She poured herself another glass of wine and got the coffeemaker set up for the morning. She was scheduled to pick up her client at nine.
Aidan came in wearing a pair of low-slung cargo shorts and a T-shirt that stretched over his mile-wide chest. “You sell any houses?”
“Not today. But maybe tomorrow.”
His brows winged up. “Yeah? In Sierra Heights?”
“No. This particular client wants horse property.” The description seemed vague enough that Dana didn’t think she was violating the confidentiality agreement.
“A lot of acreage?” He got a pot out, filled it with water, and put it on the stovetop to boil. “I need to get in there.” Grasping her around the waist, he shifted her away from the pantry.
His hands were big and they seemed to linger. Although that could’ve been Dana’s imagination, because she liked the way they felt on her. Strong and firm, but at the same time gentle.
“She hasn’t been too good at communicating about what she wants; just that she’ll know it when she sees it.”
“That’s gotta make your job more difficult,” he said, and tore open a bag of spaghetti.
“A little bit. A lot of times people just don’t know what they’re looking for. I like the role of narrowing it down for them. We’ll probably drive around to a number of different places until something clicks. Sometimes this job requires mind reading and a psychology background. What did you do today?”
“Got my shades, got groceries, went to my sister’s house and got the rest of my stuff.”
“How was the river?”
“Good. The kids said the water is usually deeper. I figure it’s low on account of the drought.” He poured half the contents of the spaghetti package into the boiling water.
She watched as he started the sauce in a second pan, dicing tomatoes and crushing fresh garlic. He seemed to know what he was doing. Good at multitasking, he began setting the table for two. She didn’t stop him because everything smelled so good. It wouldn’t kill her to have just a taste, Dana told herself.
“Where did you learn to cook?”
“Firehouse. Everyone has to take turns.” He grabbed her bottle of wine and poured some into his sauce.
“Is there anything you’re not good at? Cooking, building closets, putting out fires, blowing up kids’ inner tubes . . .”
He laughed, then grew somber. “I’ve got some stuff I’m not good at.”
“Like what?” She sat at the small kitchen table and continued to watch him cook.
“You go first.” Aidan pulled a strand of pasta out of the pot to test it.
“Of things I’m not good at? It’s a long list. The only thing I’m really good at is selling real estate.”
“Nah,” he said. “You’re good at organization and at putting a house together.” He pointed at the stenciled rooster on the wall to prove his point.
