“But I can.”
I look up, mid-sniff. “Can what?”
He sits on the other end of the couch. “Stay for the movie.” He reaches over and hands me the plate I just inhaled. “Hope you like frittatas. You weren’t kidding about having a bare pantry.”
I hold my plate closer as if it were the holy grail about to give me immortality. “I don’t kid around about food. Or animals, for that matter.”
“I noticed.” Nick leans back, looking quite at home as he eats.
The aroma of eggs and cheese shifts my saliva production into overdrive. I slide a bite into my waiting mouth. First, cheese, then some kind of peppery flavor hits my tongue. As I chew, I detect more flavors, like onion and mushrooms.
I close my eyes and moan. “I think I just discovered paradise.”
His chuckle pops them open again. “You must really be hungry. I’m a pretty good cook, but notthatgood.”
I smirk at him. “Shut up and let me eat.”
He bows his head in mock acquiescence. “Yes, ma’am.”
I wolf my eggs down before Nick finishes half of his. “Is there more?”
Now he’s outright laughing at me as he leans over and slides a chunk of his onto my plate.
“No, I don’t want to take yours. I can grab some chips.” But man-oh-man, that he would do that for me makes me feel squishy inside. And cared for…
He puffs out a small chuckle. “You don’t have any.”
“Or something.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re out of that, too.”
I’m tempted to toss my fork at him like a throwing knife, but I eat his generosity instead. “I’ll go to the store tomorrow. Unless Bandit needs help.”
“Give me a list, and I’ll take care of it for you.” He doesn’t even hesitate to offer.
Taken aback by his offer, I freeze mid-chew and stare at him. First, he inserts himself into a potentially bad situation to protect me, then makes me a dinner that tastes better than anything I can make with eggs, which is pretty much limited to scrambled. And now he’s offering to do my grocery shopping?
A warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with this scrumptious food. I cover my mouth so I can talk without being gross. “Are you serious?”
“Not like I have a lot to do these days.” The wryness in his voice sounds a little salty. I hadn’t thought about that aspect of Nick’s situation. He’s a man driven by a need to help others, to save lives…to have a purpose. And I’ve done physical therapy long enough to recognize the necessity for cognitive stimulation as well. Sports therapy taught me that, more than anything else—how vital mental engagement was to recovery.
“Okay, I’ll give you a list if you’re serious, but I have a better idea.”
He sets his empty plate on the table, then shifts to face me. As he leans back, he rests his right arm along the back of the couch and folds his leg up in front of him. He looks comfortable and casual.
And oh, so sexy sitting there. On my sofa. In my apartment.
Then he rubs his left hand back and forth over his mouth, making a sandpaper-like sound. The movement also enhances his Turtle Patrol tattoo, which makes the water appear to move as he flexes his bicep.
Just declare me done, right now.
He sighs. “Why do I have this sudden urge to run away?”
I set my empty plate on the coffee table. “Help me with Bandit’s rehab.”
He draws his brows together. “You don’t even know if he’s going to make it.”
“He will. I know he will.” In my mind, there’s no other way this can play out.
