Rust Creek Falls Cinderella. Melissa Senate

and Harry, feel free to go back to snoozing in your sun patch.” The dogs waited a beat to see if the newcomer had a treat or rawhide chew for them, and since he didn’t pull anything out of his pocket, they lost interest and walked back to their big cushy bed by the window and curled up.

      “That’s the life,” Xander said, smiling as he followed Lily through the living room, past the dining room and into the kitchen.

      She’d never been so aware of someone following her into another room before. He was so tall, so built, so male that she almost melted into a puddle on the floor. She was very used to being surrounded by testosterone. But this was something entirely different.

      Especially so close up. Because the kitchen wasn’t all that big and Xander was right beside her at the stove, his thigh almost touching hers.

      Could she handle the heat? That was the question.

      * * *

      Xander was standing so close to Lily he could smell her shampoo—the scent a combination of flowers and suntan lotion. She wore green cargo pants, a white T-shirt covered by a red apron that read Try It, You’ll Like It, and weird orange rubber shoes. Her long red hair was in a messy bun on top of her head with what looked like a chopstick securing it.

      His awareness of her clobbered him over the head. He used to argue with his brothers over whether a man could be friends with a woman he found sexually attractive, and some said yes and some said no way because the sexual element would always be there and that meant there was more than friendship at work. Xander believed a man could absolutely be friends with a woman.

      Since when was he sexually attracted to Lily, anyway? Just because he was noticing every little thing about her? The orange rubber shoes were hard to miss. Right? He was here to learn about tofu, something he knew absolutely nothing about.

      And something he had absolutely no interest in, too.

       You didn’t even know she was making tofu until you were inside the house. You came here on pretense.

      This was getting confusing. But an undeniable fact was that he was in this kitchen because he wanted to be around Lily. Listening to her. Talking to her. Looking at her.

      He suddenly pictured her naked, coming out of the shower, all that lush red hair wet around her shoulders, water still beaded on her breasts and trailing down her stomach and into her navel. Every nerve ending went haywire and he shivered.

      “Caught a chill?” she asked, glancing at him as she browned the little pieces of tofu in a fry pan. “I hate that. This morning I was making pancakes, fifty of them for the bottomless pits I call my brothers and father, and I suddenly got a chill even though I was standing right in front of a gas flame in August. Crazy.”

      He was hardly chilled. Nope, not at all.

      Now she was talking about sesame oil and how to make the tofu crispy for the stir-fry. She was saying something about cornstarch and pepper, but he’d stopped hearing her words and focused instead on her face and body.

      Granted, she wasn’t curvy. Or big-breasted. Or remotely his usual type. But there was just something about her. He must be losing his mind because he thought it was the freckles. Or the green eyes. Or the wide smile. Or the way she talked so animatedly about the difference between a wok and a sauté pan.

      “Going to make tofu stir-fry for your family tonight?” she asked him, holding out a piece of the brown crispy not-meat on a wooden spoon. She brought it up to his mouth, and he looked at her, then slid his lips around it.

      She flushed.

      He flushed.

      He leaned closer.

      She...backed away. As if she’d been there, done that, and had lived to tell the tale.

      “I, uh, you...have sesame oil on your cheek,” he rushed to say, leaning a bit closer to dab it away. He forced himself not to lick it off his finger.

      Saved. He hadn’t been about to kiss her. No sir.

      He had to get out of this kitchen, this enclosed space, with this woman. She was his buddy, that was all. Even if he were attracted to her, she was too young and had big dreams that she should focus on. He was a grumbly, stomped-on, love-sucks guy who wasn’t getting over it anytime soon. She needed the male version of herself. A guy as great as she was.

      Not that he wanted to think of her with any guy.

      Oh hell. He needed to go find a Vanessa type and forget about this green-eyed, freckled, curveless chef who had him all discombobulated. Yes. That was what he needed. An airhead who wouldn’t make him think, wouldn’t challenge him, wouldn’t stab a dagger through his chest.

      “Appreciate the lesson,” he said. “The Crawfords might not be ready for tofu, but I might surprise them one day.”

      “So how do you want to schedule the cooking lesson?” she asked, stirring the pan.

      “Let me check my calendar,” he said. “I’m pretty busy right now. In fact, I’d better get going. Later, buddy.”

      He didn’t miss her face falling.

      Buddy.

      Cripes, Xander. You always go that step too far. Why had he added that unnecessary zinger?

      Because now they both knew—for sure. They were friends. That was it.

      He smiled awkwardly and then headed out the kitchen door as if the place were on fire.