“I can have seafood anytime,” he answered with a shrug.
She’d accumulated a variety of culinary skills from years of cooking classes and was eager to impress him. “Are you sure you want breakfast? I make a killer pesto and my linguine with clam sauce is to die for.”
“How about biscuits and gravy?”
Disappointed she asked, “You’re kidding, right?” Georgeanne couldn’t remember being taught how to make biscuits and gravy, it was just something she’d always known how to do. She supposed it had been bred into her. “I thought you wanted oysters.”
He
shrugged again. “I’d rather have a big, greasy breakfast. A real southern artery clogger.”
Georgeanne shook her head and opened the refrigerator again. “We’ll fry up all the pork we can find.”
“We?”
“Yep.” She placed a summer ham on the counter, then opened the freezer. “I need you to slice the ham while I make biscuits.”
His dimple creased his tan cheek as he smiled, and he pushed himself away from the doorframe. “I can do that.”
The pleasure of his smile sent a flutter to the pit of Georgeanne’s stomach. As she placed a package of sausage links in the sink and ran hot water over them, she imagined that with a smile like his, he’d have no problem getting women to do anything he wanted anytime he wanted it. “Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, as she turned off the water and began pulling flour and other ingredients out of cupboards.
“How much of this do I slice?” he asked instead of answering her question.
Georgeanne glanced across her shoulder at him. He held the ham in one hand and a wicked-looking knife in the other. “As much as you think you’ll eat,” she responded. “Are you going to answer my question?”
“Nope.”
“Why?” She dumped flour, salt, and baking powder into a bowl without measuring.
“Because,” he began, and hacked off a hunk of ham, “it’s none of your business.”
“We’re friends, remember,” she reminded him, dying to know details of his personal life. She spooned Crisco into the flour and added, “Friends tell each other things.”
The hacking stopped and he looked up at her with his blue eyes. “I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine.”
“Okay,” she said, figuring she could always tell a little white lie if she had to.
“No. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
For some reason his confession made her stomach flutter a little more.
“Now it’s your turn.” He tossed a piece of ham in his mouth, then asked, “How long have you known Virgil?”
Georgeanne pondered the question as she moved past John and took milk from the refrigerator. Should she lie, tell the truth, or perhaps reveal a bit of both? “A little over a month,” she answered truthfully, and added several splashes of milk to the bowl.
“Ahh,” he said through a flat smile. “Love at first sight.”
Hearing his bland, patronizing voice, she wanted to clobber him with her wooden spoon. “Don’t you believe in love at first sight?” She settled the bowl on her left hip and stirred as she’d seen her grandmother do a thousand times, as she herself had done too many times to count.
“No.” He shook his head and began to slice the ham once more. “Especially not between a woman like you and a man as old as Virgil.”
“A woman like me? What is that supposed to mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No,” she said, even though she had a pretty good idea. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on.” He frowned and looked at her. “You’re young and attractive and built like a bri-like aaa…” He paused and pointed the knife at her. “There’s only one reason a girl like you marries a man who parts his hair by his left ear and combs it over the top of his head.”