She would’ve liked to convince herself that she’d imagined the heat in his eyes at what could be an innocuous invitation, but it was there, all right. Darkening the gray-green to smoky jade and knocking her for a hell of a loop.
“I’d planned on making a fire in there and spending the weekend laid out in the giant bed.”
Yes, her cheeks were most definitely aflame at the picture his words evoked. Chase in naught but a pair of low-slung sweats, sheets barely covering his naked torso...
“Now that you’re here, hiding out isn’t as intriguing.”
“Go ahead. I can fend for myself.” She cleared her throat and the image from her head. “I know that you have the makings for grilled cheese sandwiches, and a frozen pizza. I’m sure there are eggs in your fridge.”
“Right on every count but one. I don’t eat eggs.”
“Really?” She tried to remember if she’d seen him eating an egg when they dated. “Did you ever?”
“Not really. I mostly eat smoothies with protein powder or toast with avocado slices.”
She made a face. “I assume you don’t have a box of Froot Loops hiding in your cabinets?”
“Grape-Nuts.”
She couldn’t help joining him when he laughed.
“It’s to go on top of the yogurt I bought.”
“Vanilla?” she asked, hopeful.
“Plain.”
“You’re killing me, Mayor.” And with that comment the tense mood and stilted conversation eased. It hadn’t taken much to get them there.
“I can’t risk getting old and fat or having a heart attack like Dad.” His smile faded and so did hers.
“Your father had a heart attack?”
He confirmed with a nod. “Surgery, too. He’s in good health now, but it rattled me to see him in a hospital bed.”
“Enough that you cut out three-cheese omelets.”
“I indulge sometimes.”
“I didn’t accuse you of anything.” She held her hands up.
“No, but you’re looking at me like I’m as bland as the yogurt I mentioned.”
A smile played at the corners of his mouth but there was a dash of sadness ghosting his expression. Like he cared what she thought of him.
Impossible. He was the most independent, self-assured man she’d ever known.
“I have a surprise for you,” he said, standing from the couch.
“Oh? Did you lie about the Froot Loops?”
“Sorry. No.” He bypassed the love seat where she sat and opened a tall cabinet on the other side of the room. On the shelves sat folded blankets, a few decorative pillows and board games. He closed the doors and turned back to her, holding a familiar oblong box.
“Monopoly?” The box appeared brand-new, though it wasn’t wrapped in from-the-factory plastic.
“I was poking around while you were in the shower and found this, Risk and Battleship.” He set the game on the coffee table and, after moving his wine to the side, lifted the lid of the box. “I had no idea there were games here. The house was stocked and decorated by a design team when I bought it. Wanna play?”
“Didn’t you refer to that game as the ‘ender of relationships’?”