Eleven
“Grilled cheese isn’t the same without a ripe, red tomato.” Chase turned with a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches—three of them. They were toasted to golden, gooey perfection, and Miriam’s mouth watered. “Especially if it’s from Texas.”
“You brought tomatoes from Dallas?”
Red fruit in hand, he gestured to her with it. “I wasn’t sure I could trust Bigfork’s produce department.” He set the tomato on a cutting board and cut it into thick slices. “Couldn’t risk it.”
“What happened to your accent?”
“Accent?”
“Yes,” she said with a dose of sarcasm, “you know, the one you were taught in the great state of Texas.”
“You prefer it?”
“No,” she lied. “Just curious.”
He flashed her a brief smile, one that made her wiggle in the seat she’d taken at the island.
“Well, darlin’, if you want me to lay it on thick for you I can do that.” He gave her a wink. “Real thick.”
Rapt, Miriam twirled her hair around her finger, her other elbow resting on the island’s countertop. The second she noticed she was doing it she folded her hands in front of her.
She shouldn’t prefer his accent. It reminded her of being young and carefree and...stupid.
Stupid is the word you’re looking for.
“Voice coaches,” he said in an accent-free timbre. “Years of them. It creeps in every once in a while, when I let my guard down.”
Something he rarely did, she imagined. Everything Chase did seemed intentional.
Coming here. His career. Dumping her.
“No tomato on my grilled cheese sandwich. I’m a purist. Just cheese.”
He’d made the sandwiches with reckless abandon; three types of cheese oozed onto the plate from the center of the diagonally cut stacks.
“You don’t like tomatoes?” He put a few thick slabs in between the bread of his own sandwich.
“I do—I just don’t want them on my grilled cheese.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Do you have any pickles?”
“Sadly no. It’s tomatoes or bust. I thought you were a purist.”
She picked up a triangle. “There’s nothing purer than a pickle on a grilled cheese sandwich.”
If the crunch of the toasted bread wasn’t enough to send her into blissful abandon, the gooey, stringy cheese would’ve done it.
Chase lifted a half and took a bite. After he was done chewing he continued. “Damn. That is good. But no more moaning from you unless I elicit that response.”
Her mouth was full so she had to finish chewing and sip her water before she responded.
“Okay. I feel like we have to talk about the kiss.” She dusted her fingers onto a paper napkin.
“Okay.” He continued eating, gesturing for her to go ahead.