anyone sick.”
“Really,” Bridget said with an eye roll, tossing him an annoyed look.
Darwin grinned down at her, the heat from his broad body spreading to her own. Shutting off the water, he pulled her hands into his, gently wiping away the dampness with a cotton towel. Bridget’s gaze met his as he brushed the soft fabric across her palms. “Most definitely,” he said, his voice dropping a half octave.
“So,” Bridget said, her voice cracking slightly as she moved to withdraw her hands from his, sidestepping her sudden wanting. “What are we cooking?”
Darwin chuckled. “Salad. You cut the tomatoes and I’ll prep the lettuce.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Why would I kid? Are you afraid to make salad?”
Bridget raised her eyebrows. “No. I can make salad.”
“Good. We need a nice leafy vegetable to go with the beef short ribs and the corn bread.”
“I’m not cooking the ribs and the corn bread, I hope?”
“Oh, heck, no! Didn’t you tell me you could burn water?”
Bridget swatted a hand in his direction. “You’re not funny, Darwin. You’re not funny at all.”
The two laughed, chatting easily together as they put the finishing touches on the meal. Their conversation flowed like water, the joy of Bridget’s laugh warming his spirit. As they sat down to dinner he discovered they had much in common. Bridget was a jazz buff, her knowledge as proficient as his. They admired and collected the same visual artists, and she was an avid football fan, the Seattle Seahawks her favorite team. The mutual interest could make for some interesting Monday-night football games, he mused.
Bridget grinned as if thinking the same thing. She broke off a small piece of her cornbread and dipped it into a line of brown gravy that covered her plate. Lifting the delicacy to her mouth she ate it with gusto, even pausing to lick the tips of her fingers. She hummed softly and Darwin grinned back.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying the meal,” he said, chuckling warmly.
“It’s very good,” she responded, laughter shimmering in her eyes. “I guess you can tell I do like to eat.”
“I like a woman who attacks her plate with such enthusiasm.”
Bridget laughed. “I don’t play when it comes to my food so you tease all you want, Darwin Tolliver. Your cute comments don’t faze me in the least.”
“What!” the man responded, feigning ignorance. “I was being serious. I wasn’t teasing.”
Bridget rolled her eyes as she lifted a glass of lemonade to her lips, sipping a taste of the ice-cold drink. She shook her head. “So, when did you know you wanted to be a chef?”
“I was twelve and my father had taken me and Mac to a barbecue competition in New Orleans. There was this old man there who was just working this old, beat-up grill he’d manufactured out of a metal barrel. We were standing in the crowd watching him and out of the blue he invited me and Mac to come taste test his chicken and steaks.” Darwin shrugged, his broad shoulders jutting skyward as he continued. “I was hooked from that moment on. I wanted to cook and feed people and enjoy the expressions on their faces when they’d been satisfied with a good meal.”
Bridget smiled. “What was the first thing you ever cooked?”
Darwin laughed. “It was a dish called Chicken of Seven Seasonings. I got the recipe from this old cookbook my mother had and thought I’d surprise the family by making dinner.”
“Were they surprised?”
“That’s putting it mildly. The meal was so bad that my father actually got up from the table, tossed his plate out into the yard to the dog and walked out of the house.”
“That’s awful!” Bridget exclaimed, her eyes widening.
The man shook his head. “Actually, the food was that bad. The dog wouldn’t even eat it,” he said with a hearty laugh.
Bridget shook her head, laughing with him.
“So why did you become an attorney?”
“My father. From the day I was born he would introduce me to people as his daughter, ‘the future attorney.’ He wanted me to be a lawyer and I wanted to please him.”
Darwin eyed her warily. “Now, Bridget, you don’t seem like the type of woman who does something simply because a man wants her to. Even if he is your father.”
“No,” she said, her mouth bending into a slight smile. “I’m not. But my daddy could be a very convincing man. He wanted to be a lawyer and it just never happened for him so he made it happen for me. I saw his love for the law and I eventually fell in love with it, as well.”
“And you like what you do? Practicing law makes you happy?” Darwin asked.
Bridget nodded. “Extremely,” she said, her gaze meeting his.
He was finding it difficult to take his eyes off of her. As she talked, her enthusiasm for her subjects radiated from her eyes, the dark orbs gleaming brightly. She asked a lot of questions about him, his career, his love of good food and his family. Her interest seemed to come from someplace genuine and the gesture filled his spirit.
He was interested in her, excited for the opportunity to discuss her career, her lifelong friendship with the two women who all referred to themselves as the Dynamic Divas and her family. And she made him laugh, her keen sense of humor a nice match to his own. They were joking about his dog as he began to fill the dishwasher with dirty dishes.
“So, why didn’t you get yourself a manly dog?” Bridget asked. “Something with a large bite?”
“What are you trying to say? Biscuit’s a manly dog!”
She laughed.
“I can’t believe you’re making fun of my animal. Keep it up and I’ll make her bite you. Then you’ll see how manly she is.”
“I’m so scared!”
“Get her, Biscuit!” Darwin chimed, pointing in Bridget’s direction. “Get her, girl!”
Biscuit looked from one to the other then laid her head back down against the cushioned seat.
Bridget burst out laughing again. “That sure is one dangerous dog!”
“She’s afraid if she bites you, she’ll catch something. I can’t fault her.”
“I beg your pardon!” Bridget exclaimed, her hands falling to her lean hips. “Oh, no, you didn’t!”
Darwin bumped his shoulder and arm against hers, teasing her side with his hip. “Oh, yes, I did.”
Bridget reached into the sink and flicked a palm full of water at him. Reaching for the sink’s sprayer, Darwin aimed it in her direction, laughing heartily as he prepared to shoot.
Giggling, Bridget ducked in defense. “Don’t you dare,” she said with a wry laugh, her hands posed defensively in front of her.
Reaching for her, Darwin pulled her body toward his, the two pretending to wrestle against each other. Biscuit barked excitedly from her seat, wanting to join in the fun. With a quick twist, Bridget claimed the sprayer and pumped the handle. Darwin jumped as cold water hit him squarely in the face and chest.
“Oops!” Bridget laughed.
Darwin sputtered, swiping at the moisture with the back of his hand. “You’re going to get it now,” he cried as Bridget dropped the sprayer back into the sink and raced into the family room. She positioned herself at one end of the chenille sofa, placing the upholstered unit between them.
They were playing like schoolkids racing in circles around