Page 25 of Hot and Bothered
I made a resolution to myself: I wouldn’t let anything like this happen again. I would give Evan his privacy. No more ogling. It didn’t matter how handsome, and kind, and sweet, and sexy he was.
I paused in the middle of searching the fridge for eggs.
Since when had I started thinking of Evan as sexy? Sure, he was a good looking guy, but I’d never had thoughts like that about anyone before, not even Jacob. Especially not Jacob. That was one of the reasons why I knew I couldn’t marry him.
But the feelings Evan gave me were like nothing I’d ever experienced before. I couldn’t think of the last time I’d considered someone sexy, aside from a few vague daydreams about movie stars.
I’d always assumed I’d feel that way about my future husband. But that hadn’t been the case. The only one I’d ever felt this way about… the only one who made me feel this way…
I looked back at the closed bathroom door. An electrifying thrill of both excitement and panic took hold of me.
The only person who made butterflies take wing and my stomach? The only one who made my heart race? The only one who made my insides turn warm?
It was Evan.
Only Evan.
11
Iwas scraping the eggs back and forth in the pan with a spatula when the scent of thin black smoke wafted into my nose.
“The toast!” I threw down the spatula and rushed to the toaster. The blackened and burnt toast popped up just as I went to press the stop button. I took the two pieces out gingerly, holding them with the tips of my fingers. Completely ruined.
I heaved a sigh. So much for toast. At least I had the eggs.
Another smell wafted through the kitchen, bitter and plastic-y. I rushed to the eggs to find that I’d thrown the spatula down too hastily and now the tip of the handle was singed and melted from touching the edge of the hot pan.
“Oh no…” I lamented as I examined the spatula. The dent of melted plastic was quite obvious, but at least it was still usable.
I stirred the eggs again. The consistency was odd. I forked a small piece out of the pan with a fork and blew on it to cool it down. I carefully tasted it, full of dread. It was rubbery and tasteless.
“Dammit!” I smacked my fist to my forehead.
“Having some trouble?”
Evan came into the kitchen, freshly washed and dressed for the day. His hair was still slightly damp, turning it a shade darker than normal.
“Were you trying to cook breakfast?” he asked.
The question was obviously rhetorical as there was no way he hadn’t noticed the smell of burnt toast in the air, the melted utensil in my hand, and the dejected expression on my face.
“I melted your spatula,” I said mournfully.
He quirked a smile. My heartbeat sped up. He took the spatula from me, his fingers brushing mine. A tingling sensation went straight up my arm. He held it up to take a look.
“It’s not so bad,” he said, turning it this way and that. “It’s just a little dent.”
“And I burnt the toast,” I continued as if confessing my sins to a priest. “And the eggs are awful.”
Evan looked around the kitchen, then let out a chuckle.
“How about you let me do the cooking from now on?” he said.
“I was trying to do something nice.” I hung my head, my eyes lowering to the floor. “You’ve been so good to me, so kind and helpful. I wanted to do something to make it up to you.”
Evan put a finger on my chin and tilted my head up.
“You don’t need to make anything up to me,” he said. “You don’t owe me anything, Alice.”
