Page 20 of Professional Consult
“I have some burn ointment.”
“It’s just a little pink.”
He tries to grab my arm, but I pull away. “Back off.”
“I’m just trying to help.”
“And I was just trying to make breakfast.” I gesture to the stove.
“Sorry, I got a little startled when I saw a half-naked woman rearranging my kitchen and making herself at home.”
“Half-naked? Your shirt is longer than some of my dresses, and I didn’t realize your dishes were a permanent fixture in your sink. I’ll be more than happy to move them back.”
He seethes through gritted teeth.
“Can you step out of the way so I can finish breakfast?”
His face softens and his posture grows relaxed. It’s then that I realize he has his firearm pointed down.
“Why do you have your gun?”
“I’m not used to other people being here. When I heard you in the kitchen, I didn’t know what I was going to find.” He turns to go back into the living room. “I’ll be back after I put this away.”
Suddenly, I feel bad, and when he comes back in, I say, “I’m sorry.”
He scratches the back of his head. “You shouldn’t be. I fucked up, and that’s not on you.”
“How do you like your eggs?”
“Over easy.”
I finish cooking breakfast and set two plates on the small table he has off to the side. Luke brings over two steaming mugs of coffee.
“It’s been a long time since someone cooked me a homemade meal,” he says, spreading jam across his toast.
“To be honest, I’m surprised I remembered how to cook. I learned on set during a show I was filming when I was a teenager.”
He forks a scrap of eggs into his mouth, sighing happily as he chews.
I’m taken aback by how much it seems he belongs in this setting. The handsome husband eating breakfast before going off to work.
And yes, he is very handsome, from that chiseled jaw to those piercing blue eyes. The very definition of panty-dropper.
He’s wearing the same type of undershirt I am, though his fits tight against his body, making the recesses of his muscles look dramatically huge. Further south he’s wearing the infamous gray sweatpants women so love. Which means my eyes are going to want to wander.
Damn him for looking so good.
It strikes me that this is how normal people live. Working in tandem to get through the day. Adding kids and bills to the mix has got to add stress, yet people get by. Happily.
I clear my throat. “I don’t suppose you have anything I could wear until we make it to the store?”
“There are a few of my brother’s things from high school that might fit you.”
I arch a brow. “Why do you have Clint’s high school clothes?”
His mouth slows as if he’s contemplating whether to answer my question. It seems ridiculous that he wouldn’t. It’s simple enough.
“When he went off to Hollywood, I offered to keep his things for him.” His words rush past his lips like he’s telling a lie. Or perhaps it’s a painful memory. He and his brother might not be very close.
