She was too close.
He couldn’t avoid her gaze that was too penetrating, as if she could read his secrets. She was supposed to have stopped at the game room. Been enthralled by the glitz and the glamor of the theater room. Been in awe of the state-of-the-art development lab.
She wasn’t supposed to look any deeper at Kyle.
He wasn’t supposed to let her.
He feared if she looked too close, she might glimpse the fraud inside him. For some unknown reason, he didn’t want her to see him that way.
“There’s no separation between work and home.” Ava opened his college-dorm-style refrigerator that had leftover pizza and an assortment of Greek-style yogurt inside. She grinned at him over the door, a tease in her voice. “Don’t cook much?”
“One of the perks of selling the earbud. I got to add a personal chef to the payroll.” He kept his tone easygoing but touched his medical-alert bracelet.
Her gaze tracked to his wrist. “What’s the bracelet for?”
He stiffened, but kept his voice mild and indifferent. As if his condition was no more life-threatening than a hangnail. In the summer before the sixth grade, he’d wanted nothing more than to fit in with the other boys. He’d boasted about his allergy and embellished his stories about ambulance rides to sound cooler than they ever were. Troy Simmons—one of the boys Kyle had wanted desperately to call a friend—decided to test Kyle’s claims and hide a nut in Kyle’s lunch. That single nut had sent Kyle on another ambulance ride. His three-day hospital stay had taught him a life lesson in trust. His family became the only ones he’d ever fully trust. He’d returned to school, confident that it was easier to be alone with his secrets than to be betrayed by so-called friends. “Nut allergy.”
“How severe is it?” she asked.
“Enough that I need to wear this.” And the personal chef had been hired to ensure his employees didn’t bring food into the building that would cause a reaction that sent him to the hospital. He wasn’t about to confess that weakness to Ava. She was a stranger. A temporary guest in his building.
In middle school, he’d stopped discussing his food allergies with people outside of his family. Now, even though his personal staff had moved on to other jobs, his chef still delivered meals twice a week. He’d grown tired of the five things he knew how to cook that wouldn’t make him reach for his EpiPen and dial 9-1-1.
“You don’t talk about it much.” She shut the refrigerator door and watched him. “At least from what I read.”
“You looked me up?” He wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or worried.
“I wasn’t bringing Ben into a stranger’s house.” Her voice was confident and sure. Her stance, with her hands on her hips, was unapologetic.
“I’d be even more cautious after reading anything about me on the internet.” The news reporters and gossip columnists were just another reason he kept to himself.
“You don’t like to talk about yourself, do you?”
“I like to keep my private life private.”
“But you’re a local celebrity and the public wants to know.” Ava leaned against the counter as if in no rush to continue the tour. “I imagine everyone wants to spill your secrets.”
Good thing he didn’t have too many. And none that he’d risk sharing with another person. He eyed Ava. No makeup concealed the freckles across her nose. No designer labels peeked out on her yoga pants and oversize sweatshirt. As if she really wore those clothes to work out in. She’d dressed for herself and her own comfort, not to impress. Such a refreshing change, yet everyone had an agenda.
What was Ava’s? Was she looking for a fast track to her fifteen minutes of fame? Looking for an easy payout with a story to sell? He hoped she was. That was more than enough for him to escort her out of his suite and sever his interest in her. “It’s a good thing that I don’t have any secrets, then.”
“Well, you’ve got one,” she challenged.
Alarms blared through him. He knew she’d been too perfect. “What’s that?”
“I never read a quote or story about you from your private chef.”
“She’s discreet.” He paid Haley Waters, his chef, very well for that discretion.
She nodded, as if content with his answer. Content not to press for more. “We remodeled our kitchen, but it might’ve been wiser to invest in a personal chef.”
Like his chef, Haley? Did Ava have secrets? Kyle should walk her back to her friends. Not linger in his kitchen as if he wanted to get to know her better. As if he wanted to know her. Yet he should discover what she wanted from him. “You don’t like to cook, either?”
“It’s not the cooking. It’s the shopping.” Ava grimaced. “Although now I get our groceries delivered.”
Our. Kyle scanned her fingers for a ring. Even without a ring, she could be involved with someone. That thought knocked around inside his gut like the break of the balls on the pool table. Definitely not his business. Those were only hunger pangs making his stomach clench. Nothing food wouldn’t quiet. Before he could shove a spoonful of yogurt into his mouth, he asked, “You cook for more than yourself?”
He had to stop talking or she’d question his angle. As if he had one.
“My mom and I live together.” She walked out of the kitchen, toward the game room, as if she’d revealed more than enough.
She wanted to keep her private life private, too. That put them on common ground. And intensified his desire to learn what else they might have in common. Why couldn’t she have been like the women he’d met who were only interested in what his money could do for them? Why did she have to be interesting? And standoffish, as if she didn’t trust him with her secrets.
She pulled out her phone and tapped the screen. “We should get going.”
He’d asked one personal question and she wanted to leave. “Play one game of Skee-Ball. It’ll be hard to talk while you’re trying to beat me.”
Her gaze shifted toward the lanes. Temptation was there in her half grin.
“Come on, Ava,” Dan urged. “I talked to my dad. Your mom is good, and they already planned dinner without us.”
“One game.” Ava stepped up to the first lane.
Kyle pressed Play on the second lane. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He already knew what he got: a game room that wasn’t empty or silent. He’d enjoy the moment. Then get back to work. What harm was there in one round?
One game turned into two. Then three. The moment extended into the evening. Then through dinner. The foursome moved together from one section to another. Challenges issued. Teams made and disbanded. Everyone proved to be poor losers and even worse winners. Between the boasting and bragging, more challenges were tossed out. Laughter threaded through every minute: good-natured and contagious.
Finally, Dan called a halt. Ben had exceeded his yawn limit and bedtime beckoned.
One last debate followed.
Ava grabbed the chalk and walked to the wall. “I claim the top spot.”
“For Skee-Ball only,” Dan argued. Both Ben and Kyle nodded, drawing out her frown.
“Fine.” She filled up the wall with a swirl of blue chalk. “Here are the final standings.”
Kyle earned: Expert Ping-Pong Player.
Ben: Highest Score 11 and under.
Dan: Best Off-Road Driver.
Ava: High Score Skee-Ball.
Kyle walked the trio out and