I shook my head and read over the recipe again, but just as I reached for the first ingredient, the front door swung open.
“Max,” I gasped, breathless. I’d been so distracted by thoughts of him in his military garb and riding him like a bull that I hadn’t even heard his truck pull up.
He grinned at me, and I noticed that his straight white smile slanted a little to one side, making his jaw look that much more rugged and square.
God, what was with me and this guy’s jaw?
“You’re home early.” My gaze shot toward the clock. It was barely even four. I stepped into the foyer as he looked around the living room and his eyes went wide.
“You didn’t have to do all this.” He gestured to the vacuumed carpet and polished furniture.
“It was no trouble,” I said. “Really.”
“I have a cleaning lady—”
“I know, I know.” I waved him off. “But you know, I live here too and I wanted to do my share.” I shrugged. “I prefer a tidy house, anyway.”
He walked into the kitchen, and I followed behind him like a hungry puppy following a trail of dog treats. No doubt my face looked just as hungry as one too, now that I got a good look at his backside in his fitted slacks.
I swallowed hard.
“I’m drawing the line,” he said. “You are not making dinner. You must be exhausted.”
My feet screamed in agreement with him, but I shook my head all the same. “No, absolutely not. I’ve already got a recipe. You sit down. You’ve been working all day.”
“You’re the one who’s been working all day.” He gestured toward the clean kitchen, and I rolled my eyes.
“The cleaning, sure, but Dylan’s no work. It was a great day.”
That much was true. Even with all the running and chasing and multi-tasking, Dylan was a joy. I already felt a deep bond with the little girl, and the reward that came from taking care of her? Well, that was a whole hell of a lot better than passing paper coffee cups along to bleary-eyed zombie-like commuters.
“She’s still down for her nap, though, so if you go upstairs—”
“I’ll be quiet.” He nodded. “Look, I’m sorry I’m here earlier than you expected. I couldn’t stay away. I was just a little nervous, but I have to say now that I’m impressed.”
I blushed, trying not to look as flustered as I felt. Why should his praise feel like I was being given a gold star by a favorite teacher? I knew I’d done a good job, had gone above and beyond the call of duty. And still . . .
Whenever I looked at him I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
“Actually, I was going to say you should probably wake her up. If she sleeps much longer, she’ll never go to bed tonight,” I said.
He nodded, beaming. “All right. I’ll go say hello.”
He exited the room, and while I listened to his heavy footfalls on the stairs, I finally allowed myself to exhale again. God, one more week of living here and I was going to need an oxygen tank.
Shaking my head at myself for what felt like the millionth time, I set to work on dinner. I’d marinated some steak, and the potatoes were already in the oven. All I had to do was sear the meat and sauté the asparagus, and it would be the perfect masculine meal.
As the vegetables sizzled in their skillet, I set the table, listening to both father and daughter laughing as they said hello to each other again. Apparently, it hadn’t taken much doing to get Dylan up—she’d screamed as soon as her bedroom door opened, and I could hear their soft-spoken conversation all the way from the kitchen.
An hour later when the steak was ready, I called for the little family to join me in the kitchen and served the food on the table. I cut Dylan’s steak into tiny pieces and mashed her potato while Max set her in her high chair. As we walked past each other, I felt all the air drain from the room again, swallowed up by his very presence.
“You shouldn’t have done all this.”
My heart sank. I’d wanted him to be impressed, wanted to go above and beyond to make sure this house felt like a home. I’d been so eager to hear his praise, but now I felt like a fool.
Feeling Max’s intense stare on me, I focused my attention on making sure Dylan was eating well.
It had been a while since I’d been able to prepare a home-cooked meal like this. Greg was a gluten-free, GMO-free, non-dairy vegan. After taking so much criticism when I had tried to cook for him, I eventually just gave up. It was irrational, but tears filled my eyes and I had to work to blink them away. I’d been here all of one day, and yet Max’s approval felt like everything.
“I can do that. Here, let’s switch spots,” he said, but I waved him off.
“It’s fine. If you don’t like the meal, I won’t be offended.” And if he wanted to order a pizza or run out for a burger, what did I care?
“Who said anything about not liking the meal?”
I dared a glance in his direction.