Gemma braced herself for disappointment. Her taste ran more toward spicy dishes, exotic ingredients, bold combinations. But the stew was flavored with herbs from his greenhouse, ditto the salad, and Jesse’s homemade bread was flecked with fresh dill. These extra touches added surprising depth to the simple meal.
“Everything’s delicious,” she told him with complete honesty.
Dinner was quieter than she’d expected, a circumstance that normally made Gemma uncomfortable and self-conscious. But Jesse’s sort of quiet was soothing, and the open, attentive way he watched her did funny things to her core—not simply lust, though there certainly was that. This feeling of ease with a near-stranger scared her a little, because how could something so easy possibly last? Good thing she wasn’t staying long in Trappers Cove. Jesse could tie a major knot in her plans.
“Got room for dessert?” he asked as he pushed his chair back. “I made it with you in mind.”
She pointed to her chest.
“Yes, you.” He chuckled.
“Wow. No one’s ever dedicated a dessert to me before. Guess I’ve gotta try it.”
His sweet smile flattened. “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
She popped from her chair. “No, I do!”And why has my voice gone all squeaky?“I’d love to see what kind of dessert reminds you of me.”
“Cool.” His smile returned. “Want to eat outside? I’ll light the fire pit.”
Truth be told, she was more in the mood for a post-meal cuddle on his couch. When she hesitated, he added, “It’s propane. No smoke.”
“Sure, okay. Sounds like fun.” She did her best to inject enthusiasm into her voice.
“Great.” His grin widened. “Give me a minute.”
Preparations accomplished, he returned to the kitchen and beckoned her outside.
Her breath puffed into the clear, cold night air. Stars twinkled in a crystalline sky. All around the little farmhouse, towering pines swayed like silent sentinels. Between the porch and the greenhouse, a firepit-table thingy crackled merrily beside an oversized Adirondack chair for two, decked with fluffy sheepskin fleeces and colorful woolen blankets. On the table’s rim sat two earthenware mugs, a thermos, and a covered cake plate.
Indoors or outdoors, Jesse Del Toro had an amazing eye for detail.
While she gawked, he pulled back the blanket, sat, and patted the seat beside him. “I promise not to bite unless you ask me to.”
That smile is absolutely lethal.With a gulp, she settled against him and wiggled her butt into the cushy fleece. “This is perfect, Jesse.”
His shoulder pressed against hers as he covered their laps with a blanket, layered another one on top, then lifted the dome on the cake plate. The way he nibbled his plump lower lip made her want to help him with that task—the lip nibbling, not the cake serving.
“I candied these lilacs last spring.” He slid a slice of glazed yellow Bundt cake topped with sparkly purple gems onto her plate.
She waited until he served himself before taking a bite. The lemon flavor hit the perfect sweet/tart note, and the candied blossoms lent a complex floral counterpoint.
“Incredible.” She licked her fork, then her lips. “This cake reminds you of me?”
His thick lashes lowered. “Yeah. I guess you inspired me.”
Hard to imagine a greater compliment. “Care to explain?” She elbowed him. “Are you telling me I’m tart?”
“Sometimes.” He returned her nudge, then kept her waiting as he chewed. Devil, he enjoyed keeping her in suspense.
“Jesse, don’t tease.” She shoved him harder, a pointless gesture, since she could no more move his strong, solid body than she could budge a bull.
“Says the woman who teases me about being a fuddy-duddy.”
“I never called you a—”
“Potato, potahto.” He stared her down for a tense moment, then cracked a grin and took another bite.
This time, she poked him with her fork.
