Trauma. People reacted to it in all kinds of weird ways. This had to be some strange response to what she’d been through tonight.
Her brain was seeking a distraction. A super hot, tattooed, hazel-eyed distraction. Something all consuming that would shut down the scary thoughts and let her get swallowed up by pure physical sensation. Sensation she had no doubt someone like Wes could dish out banquet style.
Great. She was now making chef metaphors about sex. She needed to get Wes out of her house, pronto.
When she walked into the living room, the locksmith was packing up his gear. He gave her a brief humorless smile and handed her keys. “Ms. Lindt, I’ve got both the front and back door done. Top-quality dead bolts. You should be good to go. Do you want to pay now or have us bill you?”
She frowned. “Go ahead and bill me. My purse was stolen, so I have to get new credit cards and I don’t have any cash on me.”
“No problem, and I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks.”
He tipped his ball cap at her and grabbed his gear. “Call us if you have any trouble with anything.”
She walked him out and then shut the door behind him. She tested the keys and locked the door, anything to delay going back into the kitchen. But eventually, she had to face Wes.
When she walked in, he was cleaning up the remnants of their dinner, bicep flexing as he wiped down the counter. “All is well?”
She cleared her dry throat and nodded, resenting the fact that the man even looked hot cleaning. “Seems to be.”
“That’s good.” He set down the rag and tossed the takeout boxes in the trash. “Do you want any more wine?”
She lifted her palm. “Nope. Please cut me off.”
Because I’m this close to doing something stupid.
“Do you have a mason jar?”
“Um, probably. Why?”
“Best way to keep the wine fresh. Recorking it is a waste. But if you put it in an airtight mason jar in the fridge, you can get a few more days out of it.”
She smirked and went to a cabinet to get an empty jar. “Helpful tips from Chef Wes?”
“I don’t like to waste things, especially good wine.”
“You didn’t drink any of yours.”
Something tightened in his expression, but it was gone as fast as it was there. “It’s late, and I’m driving. Don’t want to fall asleep on the way home.”
She handed him the jar, his fingers brushing hers, and she quickly stepped back. “Thanks again for everything tonight.”
He smiled as he poured the wine into the jar. “No problem. I’m glad I could help, and though I hate the reason why we ended up here, I enjoyed the company.”
“Me too,” she said, the honesty falling out of her before she could think better of it.
He screwed the lid tight and tucked the wine into the fridge. When he turned back around, he stepped a little closer. Still a friendly distance, but she felt the shift in his demeanor. “And I know you nixed the cooking lessons, but if you like to try new foods, I could show you around the rest of the park sometime. Give you a tour of all the best stuff. I know Dev has more things you should taste.”
The offer took the air out of her for a moment. “You’re asking me out?”
He blinked at her blurted question and then gave her a chagrined smile as he tucked his hands in his back pockets. “No, of course not. Because that would be a completely dick move after the night you had.”
She blinked, still trying to process everything.
“But I like talking to you,” he went on. “So maybe we can call it a request for tonight not to be the last time I ever talk to you. How about that?”
“A request for further conversation.”