Fiona blinked, then blinked again as she tried to picture him tinkering around in the kitchen. It was kind of hard with him dressed like he just walked off an Army barracks. “You can cook?”
He shifted in his seat. “Why do you find that so unbelievable?”
“I didn’t say it was unbelievable.”
“You didn’t have to; I can see it all over your face.”
Though he didn’t seem offended by it, which was a relief.
Finished with his beer, he set the empty glass on the table. “Tell you what; come over tomorrow after work and I’ll show you what I can do.”
“Like an actual date?” Her pulse quickened at the thought.
Joe lifted and lowered one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I prefer to call it a tactical planning session. You like lasagna?”
“Sure.”
“Good. Come hungry. Dinner will be ready at six.” Joe pushed up from his chair and dropped a few bills on the table to cover the tip. As he started for the door, he looked back over his shoulder at her. “Don’t forget to bring a bottle of red.”
Chapter 6
Fiveminutestosix,Fiona knocked on Joe’s door.
Nerves skittering, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she picked a cat hair off the sleeve of her fitted V-neck shirt. She’d almost worn the black turtleneck instead, but decided it was too frumpy. Besides, red was a Christmas color, and even though she wasn’t feeling festive, she could at least play the part.
Then again, it might be too flashy for dinner. For a fleeting moment, she considered running upstairs to change but abandoned the thought just as quickly.
She blew out a frustrated breath. She was being ridiculous. There was no reason for her to feel insecure. Heck, this wasn’t even a real date. What had Joe called it? Oh yeah, that’s right: a tactical planning session. Just two people engaged in a mutually beneficial arrangement. Totally platonic.
Except for some minor hand-holding, or an arm around her waist.
Maybe a kiss here and there.
That was it.
Nothing more.
She tried to ignore the twinge of disappointment that settled in her stomach like a ball of lead.
Seconds later, the door swung open, and her mouth went completely dry.
Forget about dinner—Joe looked good enough to eat in pale denim and a forest-green Henley with the sleeves pushed up past his elbows. His short, dark hair was still wet from the shower, his face freshly shaved. He paused a moment to look her over, and when he smiled, her heart thudded in her chest.
“Hey,” she said with a little finger wave, feeling like a total dork.
“Hey yourself.” His gaze drifted down. “Merlot…nice choice.”
Huh? Oh yeah, the wine.“Thanks. I wasn’t sure what kind of red paired best with lasagna, so I went with the brand I drink on the balcony with Liz. Not that we’re lushes or anything,” she added. “We just have a glass or two after work a few times a week.”
“Hey, I’m not judging.” He moved back and opened the door wider for her to enter. “There have been days when I cracked a beer open the second I walked through the door. You two been friends for a while?”
“Since college.” Fiona stepped into the foyer.
As expected, the apartment had the same general layout as hers, with the same off-white walls and sand-colored carpet. But the décor leaned heavily toward early twenty-first century man cave. A mismatched leather couch and recliner faced a television that was bigger than her. Sports paraphernalia adorned the walls. New Jersey teams—not a surprise, considering his accent. Several remote controls sat on the scarred wooden coffee table in front of the couch. Everything appeared clean and organized, as if he’d just given the place a top-to-bottom scrubbing.
Joe crossed to the kitchen and opened the drawer by the refrigerator. “What, were you sorority sisters or something?”
“No, we met in a creative writing class. She was late on the first day, and the only open seat was the one next to mine. After class, we grabbed a bite to eat, and we’ve been friends ever since.” She leaned against a Formica countertop that was identical to the one in her kitchen. “That smells great.”
