“You look hot,” he murmured.
Her face heated. Oh my God, it wasn’t as if she’d never heard a compliment before. What was wrong with her? “Thanks,” she said as she let him in and watched him remove his heavy leather coat to reveal a black pocket T-shirt and a pair of snug-fitting jeans. “So do you,” she told him, appreciating the sight before her. Appreciating that for now, for today, she had him all to her greedy little self.
He sniffed the air. “Mm, something smells good.”
She smiled and led the way to the kitchen. “I hope you like grilled chicken.”
“Love it.” He leaned over the platter sitting on the table. “Are those potatoes oven-roasted?”
Worried he hated it, she answered, “Yeah, is that okay?”
“More than okay. I love those things.” He glanced over at her as he took his seat. “So you’re feeling better?”
“Yep. A twinge here and there is all.” She opened the fridge and peered inside. “What do you want to drink? I have sweet tea, water, and a few cans of soda in here somewhere.”
“Iced tea sounds great.”
She took the pitcher out and poured them each a glass. As she handed his over, she said, “I just made it this morning. I hope its sweet enough.”
Vance took the glass from her and drank a third of it down. “It’s perfect,” he said when he came up for air. “Damn, I was thirsty.”
“I gathered.” She laughed and sat down, acutely aware of their knees touching beneath the table.
He picked up the platter and served them each a chicken breast and potatoes. “We’ve been at the diner all morning beating the crap out of four-by-fours and tearing out the old wiring. I’ve worked up an appetite.”
She started on her salad first but noticed he didn’t follow suit. “It sounds like you have quite a job ahead of you.”
“We do. Not sure any of us knew how big a job until today.” He cut a large chunk from his chicken and brought it to his mouth. Shayla held her breath, wondering if he would love it or hate. When he cut another and stabbed it with a fork, she started to breathe easier. “You’re a hell of a cook, Shay,” he said as he cut yet another. “Want to come work at the diner?”
“As a cook?” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”
He swallowed a few more bites of his chicken and took a long drink. “Woman, if you didn’t already have your own business, and clearly a successful one, I’d try and talk you into coming to work for us.”
That he was serious surprised Shayla. “But you have a cook, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “Eddie is great. He’s been with us for years, but if the restaurant gets as many customers as we’re anticipating, then he’ll need help.”
When he started on the potatoes, Shayla’s heart melted at the notion that he was so enthusiastically eating the lunch she’d cooked for them. How wonderful would it have been to have this every afternoon with Vance? And each morning, sitting across the table from each other before they headed off to work.
All too easily, Shayla pictured Vance coming home after a long, hard job at some construction site, taking her into his arms and kissing her senseless. They would’ve talked about their days over dinner. God, so many years lost, and all because she’d let her father dictate the way she should live her life. All because she’d been too much the coward to stand up to the tyrant and take control of her life.
After her salad was finished, she dug into her own meal. Soon Vance was wiping a napkin over his mouth and sitting back, a look of utter satisfaction on his gorgeously rugged face. When she noticed he had yet to touch his salad, Shayla frowned. “You didn’t eat your veggies.”
He picked up a cucumber slice and popped it into his mouth. “Tastes good, but I’m full.”
She pushed the bowl closer to him. “You were supposed to eat your salad first, though.”
He pushed it right back where it was. “Says who?”
She started to pick up her drink, but his question stopped her. “It’s just something you do. In our house, Dad had a very specific way of doing everything, and that included dinner.”
Vance laughed and leaned one elbow on the table. “You need to come to a Jennings gathering, then. It’s total chaos there. Every man and woman for themselves.”
Shayla couldn’t comprehend a meal like that. “When Dad was alive, we would dress in our Sunday best every night f
or dinner. No one spoke, and you were to eat every last bite or you didn’t leave the table.”
“That doesn’t sound like much fun,” he said in a tender voice.