Page 37 of Digging Up Love
“You really don’t have to.” She angled between him and the sink and turned off the water again, daring him with an upturned chin and sparkling eyes, their hips a hairbreadth apart.
How easy would it be to frame her in with his hands on the counter and capture her lips in a kiss? Instead, fighting to control his wayward thoughts, he reached around, brushing her waist, and flicked on the water again.
“If I admit I’m doing the dishes just to hang out with you, will you let me stay?”
She swallowed, the sound loud in the stillness, and his gaze traced the long line of her neck. He snapped his eyes up and found hers hooded, dark.
“Yeah. Sure. I mean ... yeah.” Reaching behind herself again, she grabbed a bottle of dish soap and pushed it into his chest, a sly grin on her rosy lips. “As long as you can manage to stay dry today.”
Warmth spread up Quentin’s neck, and he clasped the bottle, a jolt slicing through him when their fingertips touched. “Still blaming me for the rain?”
Almost no space remained between them, and her eyes hadn’t left his face. Caught in her sway, he stood frozen. The whirring of the stand mixer changed in tone, and Alisha sucked in a quick breath and slid away, clicked off the mixer.
“Didn’t you compare yourself to Thor?” She took out a stack of small plates from the cupboard, her twists swinging along her shoulder blades. “Who else should I blame?”
“I specifically didn’t. If I recall,youdid.” He lathered up the plates with suds, wishing he’d used cold water instead.
“Hmm, my memory of the day is a little fuzzy. Guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” Her curly lashes brushed her cheeks as she swirled a crescent of deep-magenta sauce onto the plates, a hint of a smile on her lips.
He liked this side of her, open and silly. Back in March, when she’d talked about her family, her life here, he’d sensed a heaviness. But today, playfulness reigned.
Scrubbing the dishes, he watched her out of the corner of his eye. She placed a halved biscuit on the center of each plate, topped by a spoonful of berries.
He turned on the tap to rinse the plates and looked her way again, to find her with a tub of sour cream, spoon poised over the bowl of what he’d assumed was whipped cream. She caught his eye. “I know whatyou’re thinking, but don’t knock it till you try it.” She plopped in a big dollop of sour cream and cranked up the speed again.
Yuck. What would she add next, mayo? He cringed, setting the plates in the dish drainer. He leaned over to fetch the dish towel off the counter, but she intercepted him, boxing him out. Again with the closeness. It almost made him forgive her for ruining the whipped cream. Almost, but not quite.
He eyed the spoon in her hand. “You’d best keep that nasty concoction far away from me.” Snatching up the towel, he held it up between them like a matador.
“Just try it.” She ducked under the towel, between his arms, and he forgot to breathe. That is, until she raised the spoon to his lips. Nose scrunched, he tentatively darted out his tongue.
Wow. Okay, that was amazing. Tangy and sweet and super luscious.
At the look on his face, she mm-hmmed, low in her throat, and the vibration struck a tuning fork in Quentin, setting his whole body abuzz. She slipped the spoon in her mouth, finishing off the bite, and he bit back a raspy breath.
“Ali, need a hand?” Mrs.Blake’s voice cut through the haze around his brain, and Quentin leaped back just as Alisha dropped the spoon into the sink. Soapy water splashed up all over his shirt.
He plucked the wet fabric away from his stomach and met Alisha’s eyes. Deadpan, she licked a dab of cream off her pinkie. “Nope, all good here,” she called. She let her eyes drift down his front and trace their way back up. Heat blazed through his body. “Quentin, you remember the way to the bathroom, right?”
With that, she picked up the tray of plates and flounced out of the kitchen.
A few hours later, he knelt in the scorching bed of his dad’s pickup, rummaging around with more force than was strictly necessary foranother bottle of superglue in the totes that held their tools. The mixed signals Alisha kept throwing out were leaving him dizzy. They’d spent an entire month texting pretty much every day, but she’d basically run away when he’d arrived in town. She hadn’t come out to the dig, hadn’t so much as shown her face until today.
But despite the air-conditioned chill, the temperature in the kitchen after lunch had reached a boiling point. Was this all just a game to her, or did he somehow not measure up to the guy he’d projected in all their conversations? He wrenched a stray roll of toilet paper out of the tote and tossed it into the corner.
“I may never eat again.” Dev’s voice came from down in the dirt, accompanied by a loud belch.
“Yeah, right. I saw you polish off a granola bar five minutes ago.” Caitlyn this time, her tone playful.
Dev’s hoarse laugh reached Quentin’s ears. “Guilty. But hear me out, guys. Was that not the best food you’ve ever eaten?”
“I’m pretty sure you said the same thing about the ramen place you dragged me to last week.” Cait, again.
“That wasramen,” said Dev. “This wasbarbecue. A man is allowed to have favorites of multiple cuisines.”
Cait’s laughter sailed up out of the pit.
“As the only Texan in residence, I’m the only one here qualified to talk about barbecue.” Bridget’s drawl carried over from where Quentin had left her chiseling out a fragment of vertebra. “Iknowreal barbecue.” She paused, and the scrape of tools halted. “And that, y’all, wasbarbecue.”
