That combined with her curly hair and the mischief dancing in her eyes, I’m finding it harder and harder to resist the urge to kiss her. I glance away. “Is the water boiling yet?”
“Nope.” She adds a popping sound to the ‘p.’
I stand there for a minute, trying to decide if I should explain that I’ve changed or just let it be. But then I remember something my father said once. “The more you have to defend yourself, the more likely people are to doubt you.”
At the time, I found it confusing, considering he made his living as a defense attorney. But now, I get it. But I’d rather Hannah determine her opinion of me by getting to know who I am now and not by who I used to be, especially based on others’ opinions.
“I need to change. Be right back.” I step into my bedroom and shut the door. At least Mrs. Fletcher clarified my behavior as in the past. Even so, it's not a glowing report. Following a speedy switch into jeans and a T-shirt, I rejoin Hannah in the kitchen and finish putting together the tuna casserole.
While I slip the dish into the oven, she sets the small dining table. “This okay, or would you rather eat in front of the TV?”
“Are you trying to tempt me with another movie?”
She shrugs, but her smile is all kinds of trouble in the works. “Just a thought. I figured since your date was a bust, you might need some comforting.”
“It wasn’t a date. I swear. And Mrs. Fletcher exaggerates.”
Now she’s laughing. “I wondered when you were going to address that.”
I join her at the table with two glasses. “I’m serious. Grossly exaggerated.”
“Then you only brought a few women to your place?” She raises a brow with her question.
I open my mouth, then close it. There is an escape from this that won’t make me appear like a playboy or something. “When I first moved here…perhaps, but that was a while ago.”
“And lately?” Averting her eyes, she fiddles with the napkins and forks she already set in place.
Is she trying to figure out if I’m still a player? Because that’s the last thing I want Hannah to think of me. “Not so much. Haven’t met anyone I wanted to date.”
“Oh.” A cute blush tinges her cheeks. “Me neither.”
I’m thinking there’s more fishing going on than what’s cooking in my casserole. And I can’t help smiling, because right now, I feel like she and I turned some kind of corner. I hope she believes me.
I just wish her brothers believed I’ve changed and was worthy of dating their sister.
CHAPTER 21
Hannah
Nick makes a pretty decent tuna casserole. Nearly as good as my mother’s. She likes to top hers with chunks of buttered bread that toast up like croutons. Nick puts nothing on his unless you count the extra sprinkle of cheese he adds. Oh, and some bread crumbs, so I guess in that way, they're almost the same. Minus the butter, of course.
Surprisingly, he won’t let me help do the dishes, so I’m just sitting on a stool at the bar counter, watching him load the dishwasher while the casserole dish soaks. I’m enjoying this domesticated version of Nick. I like a man who knows how to make food and feed himself. And I really appreciate how Nick’s forearms flex as he scrubs the baked cheese off the edges of the dish. Remind me to thank the genius behind this recipe.
I need a distraction—now. After a quick scan of his counter, I find the invitation I saw the other day for his parents’ anniversary party.
“Are you going to this?” I hold up the invite.
But then it’s as if he crumbles inside. I can see it in his eyes and the way his shoulders almost slump. “Yeah, I kind of have to now.”
I’m not sure how to unpack that. “Were you not planning to go?”
“More like trying to avoid it.” He gives the dish a final rinse and a double-check.
So thorough. And I’m kind of wishing I were that dish at the moment. “And now you can’t?”
“Not really.” He turns the water off and dries his hands.
I want to ask why, but that feels too nosy. “Feel like talking about it?”
