her it had been anything but.
“Need any help?” she heard behind her, and the vase nearly fell out of her hands. Joe reached up and relieved her of it, setting it carefully on the counter and sending yet another life-is-so-unfair rush through Taylor.
Things were much easier when she was mad at him. Only then he had to go and do stuff like bring her battered flowers and chocolates and get that confused, helpless, I’m-really-trying-here expression on his face when he looked at Seth. Dammit, not only could she not stay mad, she invites the man to dinner.
But then, she wasn’t having visions of abandoned, uneaten chocolates in the trash, either.
However, she noticed Joe glowering at her as she got off the chair, and a small, hopeful flame of annoyance tried to rekindle itself.
“Standing on chairs isn’t safe,” he said.
The flame grew a tiny bit brighter, even though his voice was all growly soft and he was standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. By seven o’clock, his five o’clock shadow had reached the should-be-outlawed stage. So she puffed on the flame a little to make sure it didn’t go out.
“Yeah, well, I’ve been standing on chairs since I was two, haven’t broken my neck yet, so I’ll continue to live dangerously, thank you. Where’s Seth?”
“Out front, playing with the car.”
She actually considered keeping her big mouth shut, she really did. But since that was like trying to keep rain from hitting the ground, she said, “You know, distracting him with gifts will only work for so long.”
Joe’s eyes darkened, but he leaned one hand against the counter and slipped his other into his jeans pocket, as if nothing or nobody was going to ruffle his feathers, by golly. “And it might not hurt for you to cut me some slack here, Miss McIntyre. I’m doing the best I can.”
His reproof was gentle, but dead-on. Her cheeks burning, Taylor turned her back on Joe to run water into the vase, after which she grabbed the flowers from beside the sink and plopped them into the vessel. Oakley trotted into the kitchen, his nails clattering against the tiles. From outside, she heard Seth making assorted, if subdued, high-speed chase noises with the little car. She glanced up to make sure he was okay, just in time to see a robin the size of Texas scamper across the yard, tweetering his little robin heart out.
And Joe’s pheromones flooded her kitchen, flooded her, settling into every nook and cranny of her person and making her puff so hard on that damn flame she was about to hyperventilate.
“So,” she said. “Dinner. Frozen or canned?”
After a slight pause, she heard, “You don’t cook?”
“I cook. When the mood strikes. It didn’t tonight.” Or most nights, actually. Which was a shame, in a way, because she wasn’t a half-bad cook. But it was like the giving herself flowers thing—basically, she couldn’t be bothered. “Anyway,” she went on, twisting to set the flowers in the center of the table, where they actually looked very pretty, if still a bit shell-shocked, “I’ve got canned chili, some of that Chunky soup stuff, and a freezer full of frozen dinners.”
“I think I’ll take my chances with the chili.”
“Good choice.”
That got a half laugh. Then he plunked himself down at her table, looking as though he belonged there. How bizarre. “So how come you invited me to dinner if you’re still pissed at me?”
Her gaze shot to his. “I’m not—”
He chuckled. She huffed.
“Damned if I know.”
The corners of his mouth curved up. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you are one strange woman.”
“So I’ve been told.”
The grin stretched out a little more. “You’re also very pretty.”
She barked out a laugh, which somewhat blotted out the uh-oh. What little makeup she’d put on this morning had long since melted off, her shirt was stained with everything imaginable (and a few things that weren’t), and her hair had that fresh-from-the-wind-tunnel look.
“Oh, man—we’d better get some food in you, quick. Hunger must be making you delusional.” She tromped over to the cupboard. “And even if it were true, that’s not going to stop me from being pissed.”
“I didn’t think it would. And I’m not delusional. Or a suck-up.”
She arched one brow at him, which tugged a sheepish grin from his mouth.
“Okay, the flowers and the candy were a suck-up.” Then his smile…changed, somehow. Seemed to be coming more from his eyes or something. “Stating a simple fact isn’t.”
Unlike Abby, her younger sister, Taylor had never been good at accepting compliments. And she wasn’t all that sure what to do with this one now. So she decided to set it aside, like a sweet, but totally impractical, present, and said instead, “Would you like crackers with your chili?”
She could feel his gaze, warm and intense on her back, making her shiver slightly. “Sounds good. And I didn’t really mean that about you being strange.”
“Yes, you did.” The can of chili duly retrieved, she yanked open the utensil drawer and found the can opener, then handed both to Joe. “I’m a firm believer in audience participation,” she said when his brows lifted. Shaking his head, he set about removing the lid; at the sound of the can opener, Oakley planted himself next to Joe, his entire face undulating as it swiveled from Joe to can to Joe.
“I don’t suppose chili’s part of the dog’s diet,” Joe said.
“Not unless you want to wear a gas mask for the rest of the night.”
“Got it. You know,” he said, frowning at the dog as he cranked the opener, “his face kinda reminds me of an unmade bed.”
“Hey. Don’t talk smack about my dog.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Unmade beds are kinda nice, if you think about it.” His mouth twitching, he handed the open can to her. “Cozy. Inviting.”
Taylor rolled her eyes—mostly to keep from staring at him bug-eyed—and he laughed. After she dumped the chili into a bowl and put it in the microwave, Joe asked, “How’d you come to have a bloodhound anyway?”
“A question I’ve asked myself many times,” she said with a sigh. “Only thing I can figure is that since I couldn’t have a pet when I was a kid—not even a hamster—when I finally got this place, I sorta went overboard.” Oakley angled his head backward to give her a reproving look. “Not that I don’t adore the big lug,” she added, “but a bloodhound isn’t exactly the most practical choice in the world. Oh, Lord…” She grabbed an old towel off a cabinet knob and beckoned to the dog. “Come here, Niagara mouth.”
“And let me guess,” Joe said as she sopped up a small lake’s worth of drool from the dog’s jowls. “You’re by nature a very practical person.”
“Let’s see,” she said, dumping the towel in the sink and washing her hands. “I teach kindergarten in a flyspeck of a town, I bought an eighty-year-old house that I swear was made by the first little pig, and last month I picked up a sequined evening dress at a garage sale just because it was pretty.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Hello? Where would I wear a sequined dress around here? To one of Didi’s potlucks?”
Joe angled his head. “Don’t tell me you never leave Haven. Not even for a night out now and again?”
She flushed. “Well…no. I mean, sure, I suppose I could. It’s just been a while since I have. God. That really sounds pathetic, doesn’t it?”
They stared at each other so long and