Mitch didn’t move fast enough and, when Paige took a step back to make room for the microwave door’s swing, her body smacked right up against his body. In reflex, he lifted his hand to steady her and it happened to come to rest at her waist. For a brief moment, it seemed that she relaxed against him—almost leaning on him—and then she jerked forward.
“Sorry,” she said. “Small space. Why don’t you sit at the table and I’ll bring you your plate since it’s done.”
He wasn’t sorry at all, but there was a little strain in her voice all of a sudden, so he let it be and sat down at one of the two places she’d set out. His eyes wandered, checking out the personal touches that made the claustrophobic trailer into her home. She’d hung small baskets from the curtain rods to hold pens and mail and odds and ends, rather than having them take up the very precious counter or drawer space. On the fridge were a variety of photos taken of places he recognized around town. Not high-quality photography, by any means, but they were cheery shots. In between two photos at what would have been about her eye level, he saw a scrap of pink taped to the freezer door.
“Huh,” he said. “You really do have a sticky note on your fridge that says, Men are a luxury, not a necessity.”
She set his plate down in front of him, then put hers in the microwave. “I told you I did.”
“Why is that saying so important to you?”
She lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “It’s a reminder not to become like my mother.”
“So…she thinks men are a necessity? And that’s bad?”
“It’s not bad when a woman needs a man. But it’s not good when a woman believes she’s nothing without one and will sacrifice almost anything to keep one. It was hard growing up with my mother. She needs a man in her life to be happy, so we spent most of my childhood chasing after any man who’d tell her he loved her.”
“Relationships that were doomed to begin with, because you can only not be yourself and deny your own needs for so long before you get really unhappy.”
The microwave dinged again and she joined him at the table. “Exactly. You’re a pretty smart guy, Mitch Kowalski.”
“Just a passing familiarity with doomed relationships.”
“I thought you preferred your relationships doomed. Or with a built-in expiration date, at least.”
He looked at her from across the table, which was still close enough for him to be struck yet again by how dark her eyes were, and said, “At least with a built-in expiration date, a woman doesn’t have to worry about keeping me. It’s not going to happen, so she can relax, be herself and enjoy a very temporary luxury in her life.”
*
Paige knew she should pick up her fork, scoop up some garlic mashed potatoes and shove them in her mouth. She couldn’t seem to move, though, with Mitch looking at her like that and with his words starting to make sense to her.
Wasn’t he the perfect guy to help her take care of those pesky-ing words that were pestering her—like tingling and zinging and yearning and, above all, wanting? She knew up front he’d walk away and not look back and, as he’d said, she knew she wouldn’t be keeping him. He’d be the two-legged version of a loaner car.
Before she could say anything stupid, Paige took a bite of the mashed potatoes. And then another. Once he realized she wasn’t jumping at the bait, Mitch went back to polite small talk about the town and books and how much he liked Gavin’s garlic mashed potatoes.
But his words had gotten under her skin, which was probably why Paige took a little extra care in freshening up after dinner. She was pretty sure he’d at least try for a kiss, despite his promise to be a gentleman. After all, there was nothing particularly ungentlemanly about a kiss.
Besides, that was a promise she wouldn’t mind him breaking.
When she left the bathroom, Mitch was sitting on her couch. It dwarfed the tiny living room and she probably should have gone with a love seat, but a good sofa was something she wouldn’t compromise on. She laughed when he slid his butt to the very edge of the cushion and fully extended his legs. He could actually just brush the wall the room shared with the bathroom with the tips of his sneakers.
“Northern Star Demolition probably has job trailers bigger than this one,” she said, slapping his feet down.
He grinned and pushed himself back onto the cushion. “Maybe, but this suits you. It’s warm and cozy. Plus, it probably doesn’t take long to clean.”
“On the downside, if I let more than three days’ worth of junk mail pile up, I look like a hoarder.”
She smiled when he laughed, but inside she was jittery, and in that awkward moment, she wasn’t sure what to do next. Should she sit next to him on the couch? Sit in one of the kitchen chairs?
As if he could read her mind, Mitch grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him. She was going to sit next to him, but he tugged at her while using the other hand to steer her hips until she ended up straddling his lap.
“You didn’t slap my face, so I guess I’m still okay with the whole gentleman thing,” he said in a husky voice, and it had a touch of question in it.