Daniel looked up from the four muffins and coffee. “I fell asleep while you were making dinner? You offered to make me dinner, and I fell asleep?”
But she was beaming as she sat down kitty-corner to him, her feet almost lost in the thick-looped red rug. “Don’t sweat it. It was canned sauce.”
Between his head and his gut, he was reluctant to try eating anything, and he absently tugged at his rumpled shirt again. He vaguely remembered using the bathroom last night, but not where it was, and he was too embarrassed to ask.
“The coffee is black and the muffins are guaranteed to sit well,” Trisk prompted, and he looked from the tray to her folded hands, feeling ill. “Promise. It’s my grandmother’s recipe. Apparently she was known for her parties that lasted until noon the next day.”
If he didn’t eat something, she’d think he was an ungrateful slob, not just a slob. Hand shaking, he reached for the coffee, surprised when the bitter brew slipped into him with hardly a twinge from his middle, relaxing him even as it brought him awake.
“Thank you. Is this your house?” he asked when Trisk took her own cup in hand, clearly pleased. “I mean, it’s really nice,” he added, hearing how that sounded. “They must pay you more than me,” he muttered.
Trisk laughed, making him feel better. “It was an old farm that someone tried to turn into a bed and breakfast. They remodeled everything, added bathrooms and a kitchen to code. But it’s too far out from the city. I got a great price for it because they redrew the floodplain and it’s in it. I put in twenty-five acres of trees the first year I was here and turned it into a pecan ranch.”
He followed her eyes to the rows of sticks beyond the windows, his mood softening as he saw in her a slow anticipation. It made her more beautiful yet, and he again wondered why he was sitting on her couch. She’d been gently adamant yesterday that she wanted to keep their relationship just as it had been for the last three years, but here he was.
“Low-maintenance, long-term investment,” she added, seeming to give herself a shake as she brought herself back. “I originally bought it because of the stables. I might have horses someday.”
“I like horses,” he lied as he reached for a muffin. Bolstered by the coffee, he gingerly took a cautious bite, surprised to find that the dry texture mixing with the sharp bite of cherries went a long way in settling his stomach. “I like these muffins even more,” he said appreciatively. “These are really good. Thank you, Grandma Cambri.”
Trisk’s smile widened, and a new sense of camaraderie swept him, dangerously hopeful. He took another bite, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “And thank you for not letting me wake up in my lab,” he said softly. “That’s so unprofessional.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, sounding just as vulnerable, and he looked up, embarrassed that she was seeing him hungover and freaking out at the end of his project.
“I’m so sorry,” he added, hoping she’d understand. “This isn’t the way I wanted to spend our first evening together: you in the kitchen, and me passed out on the couch.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Trisk said, but she was gazing out at her trees. “No one but George saw us leave. And even if they did, I don’t think anyone would think twice about it.” Now she brought her attention back to him, and he felt his heart clench. “You worked hard on this project, and no one blames you for wigging out when someone comes in at the eleventh hour to possibly try to claim the credit for your work.”
It truly seemed as if she understood, and he wondered what had happened in her past that she wasn’t telling him. She was one of the best researchers he’d ever had the privilege of working with, and even considering her relatively young age, it was strange that there were no papers, no journal articles with her name on them. He’d looked. Perhaps she’d had her work shanghaied by other colleagues before.
“Trisk—” he started, reaching for her hand.
But she yelped when their fingers touched, and he drew back, shocked until she sheepishly turned her hand palm up to show that it was a bright red.
“My God, are you okay?” he asked as he scooted to the edge of the couch to see.
“It’s fine,” she said, but he saw a second flash of pain as she hid it in a loose fist. “I got a steam burn draining the pasta. Stupid. So, uh, you don’t remember anything from work?” she asked as she took a muffin, carefully wrapping it in a napkin to catch the crumbs.
“Bits and pieces,” he said wryly as he resettled himself against the hard couch with his coffee. “Not much.”
Her smile returned, confusing him. “You honestly don’t remember bursting in on me while I was cleaning out Angie’s office for the Saladan Farms researcher? I must’ve screamed loud enough to be heard upstairs.”
The coffee was warm against his fingers, and he shook his head. “No. Maybe?”