Chapter
Four
ANSON
Lacey runs a hand over the glowing wood counters. “Your kitchen is rustic perfection.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, not sure if it’s a compliment. But the relaxed look on her face sets me at ease. For once, she’s not putting up shields or shivering with an unexplained fear.
She opens a few wooden cabinets set into the river-rock walls. Then, she gasps, “I’m sorry I’m being so nosy.”
“I meant it when I said make yourself at home.”
Her fingertips go to the stone crockery on one shelf, a faint smile of approval. Pride burgeons in my chest. Making her happy suddenly feels like everything.
Crossing the space, she examines herbs hanging to dry. “Chamomile, mint, lavender. For more teas?” she asks.
“Teas and cooking.”
She points toward a bunch, eyebrow arching.
“Lemon balm and verbena, rosehip, anise hyssop, and catnip.”
“Catnip? Seriously?”
I nod. “Soothing for humans, too, when the leaves are steeped.”
“And the rosehip? What do you typically blend that with?”
“Cinnamon and honey. Maybe orange or lemon slices.”
“That sounds amazing.”
Though her face beams, I question my sanity going on like this. Tea and tisane recipes never won me a girlfriend. And this curvy, sexy, smart woman is definitely girlfriend material.
“It’s crazy how much you know about herbs and teas.”
I shift my weight. That’s it. She’s rethinking everything about me. “Kind of weird?” I ask, bracing for the truth.
“Kind of…” Her face flushes. “Honestly? Kind of sexy.”
I grin from ear to ear. Maybe I can be myself with this woman. Maybe I don’t have to keep up the tough, silent former Navy SEAL act the rest of the world expects from me. Well, at least the rest of the world outside of Off-Duty Ranch.
She watches as I pull ingredients from the fridge and pantry. Thawed, vacuum-sealed elk steaks, garlic, butter, herbs, carrots, parsnips, potatoes. Then, fresh kale, roasted beets, apples, walnuts, and goat cheese for a light salad. Finally, a loaf of fresh country bread.
I grab my well-notched cutting board as Lacey watches my every move.
“Your kitchen is so organized and well-stocked. Have to admit, I’m impressed.”
I grunt, too pleased by her proclamation to look up, falling in love with every moment together. The electricity crackling in the air. The faint smell of her apple blossom and vanilla perfume. The tension I could slice through with the large cutting knife I sharpen before the chopping begins.
Thwack, thwack, thwack. I make quick work of leeks, beets, potatoes…
“How do you do that without cutting yourself?” she asks, eyes rounding. I nearly nick my finger, the need to please her distracting.
I lift my gaze, drinking her in. “Come here,” I say gruffly.
She hesitates, that same look of fear crossing her face as earlier. Only I notice it’s less pointed this time.
