closer, until nothing more substantial than a breath could come between them, and by then she would have been shivery and hot, and he would have—
“Aw, come on, don’t pee on the patio. That’s just not dignified.”
Fia blinked, and the shivers and fever disappeared. Instead of moving closer, Elliot had taken a step back and was chastising the dog near his feet, who looked back at him from the other side of a puddle, her expression as unrepentant as any rebellious teenager’s.
His scowl good-natured, he shook his head. “I’ll clean that, then start cooking. Want me to get you a chair?”
Fia was still in a daze, still thinking about contact and intimacy and other girly desires. She shook her head to clear it. “No, I’m fine. You go on and get the food, and I’ll get the hose.”
He protested but went inside when she insisted. As the door closed solidly behind him, she gave Mouse a measuring look. The dog gave back the same expression.
“Consider yourself lucky if I don’t turn it on you and me both.”
Chapter 3
E lliot quickly prepped the last few vegetables and loaded them onto a baking tray—zucchini sliced in thick planks, seasoned and drizzled with olive oil, and portobello caps—and swiped oil across the surface of the buns before carrying the tray outside. He found the patio rinsed clean and Fia sitting on the grass near the grill, Mouse curled up a short distance away.
That dog and her bladder…First, she’d dragged him out into the rain so he could meet Fia, and then she’d pulled him totally out of the moment when he’d thought he was going to kiss Fia. She’d looked so sweet and soft and willing—Fia, not the dog—and he’d felt the tiny tremors in her hand, and he’d wanted more than anything to lean forward and wrap his arms around her and slide his tongue inside her mouth and—
And. Who knew how far it would have gone, but he did know one thing for sure: It would have been a hell of a good time. The best he’d had in months. Maybe ever.
He set the tray on the side shelf of the grill and lifted the lid, fierce heat escaping into the evening. The zucchini and the mushrooms hissed when he put them on the grate, smoke rising into the air, hanging there before drifting away. After closing the lid again, he faced Fia. “What kind of workouts do you do?”
“What makes you think I’m not lazier than Mouse?”
“Because you don’t get muscles like that being lazy.”
She considered her long, lean legs for a moment. “It used to be the most strenuous thing I’d do all day was dancing in the clubs all night. Then I met Scott, and his idea of a perfect date was a long walk or jogging three miles to breakfast. I kind of got hooked on the activity, so I went back to school and got licensed as a personal trainer. After a while, I decided running was more stress than I wanted to put on my joints since I intended to chase after my grandkids when I was old, so I began mostly swimming, weight training, walking, yoga.”
“Did you work as a trainer?”
“Yeah. I still work at the gym, but I gave up my clients after…” A pensive look on her face, she shrugged one thin shoulder, and he finished the sentence himself: after Scott died. “I see them around while I do other stuff at the gym.”
Loss was a bitch, Elliot thought as he used tongs to flip the zucchini slices. His grandmother had been widowed fairly young: She was thirty-nine when his grandfather’s horse had thrown him and broken his neck. She’d had family living right there on the ranch, though—Elliot’s dad and mom, him and Emily, Uncle Vance and Uncle Marvin and his wife, Amy. Grandma had sucked it up and gone on with the business and with life, but she’d never stopped missing Grandpa until the day she died.
Just like Fia would never stop missing Scott, and her friends would never stop missing their husbands. It could prove a bit of tough competition for some people, but Elliot was nothing if not tough.
“Aw, come on, don’t pee on the patio. That’s just not dignified.”
Fia blinked, and the shivers and fever disappeared. Instead of moving closer, Elliot had taken a step back and was chastising the dog near his feet, who looked back at him from the other side of a puddle, her expression as unrepentant as any rebellious teenager’s.
His scowl good-natured, he shook his head. “I’ll clean that, then start cooking. Want me to get you a chair?”
Fia was still in a daze, still thinking about contact and intimacy and other girly desires. She shook her head to clear it. “No, I’m fine. You go on and get the food, and I’ll get the hose.”
He protested but went inside when she insisted. As the door closed solidly behind him, she gave Mouse a measuring look. The dog gave back the same expression.
“Consider yourself lucky if I don’t turn it on you and me both.”
Chapter 3
E lliot quickly prepped the last few vegetables and loaded them onto a baking tray—zucchini sliced in thick planks, seasoned and drizzled with olive oil, and portobello caps—and swiped oil across the surface of the buns before carrying the tray outside. He found the patio rinsed clean and Fia sitting on the grass near the grill, Mouse curled up a short distance away.
That dog and her bladder…First, she’d dragged him out into the rain so he could meet Fia, and then she’d pulled him totally out of the moment when he’d thought he was going to kiss Fia. She’d looked so sweet and soft and willing—Fia, not the dog—and he’d felt the tiny tremors in her hand, and he’d wanted more than anything to lean forward and wrap his arms around her and slide his tongue inside her mouth and—
And. Who knew how far it would have gone, but he did know one thing for sure: It would have been a hell of a good time. The best he’d had in months. Maybe ever.
He set the tray on the side shelf of the grill and lifted the lid, fierce heat escaping into the evening. The zucchini and the mushrooms hissed when he put them on the grate, smoke rising into the air, hanging there before drifting away. After closing the lid again, he faced Fia. “What kind of workouts do you do?”
“What makes you think I’m not lazier than Mouse?”
“Because you don’t get muscles like that being lazy.”
She considered her long, lean legs for a moment. “It used to be the most strenuous thing I’d do all day was dancing in the clubs all night. Then I met Scott, and his idea of a perfect date was a long walk or jogging three miles to breakfast. I kind of got hooked on the activity, so I went back to school and got licensed as a personal trainer. After a while, I decided running was more stress than I wanted to put on my joints since I intended to chase after my grandkids when I was old, so I began mostly swimming, weight training, walking, yoga.”
“Did you work as a trainer?”
“Yeah. I still work at the gym, but I gave up my clients after…” A pensive look on her face, she shrugged one thin shoulder, and he finished the sentence himself: after Scott died. “I see them around while I do other stuff at the gym.”
Loss was a bitch, Elliot thought as he used tongs to flip the zucchini slices. His grandmother had been widowed fairly young: She was thirty-nine when his grandfather’s horse had thrown him and broken his neck. She’d had family living right there on the ranch, though—Elliot’s dad and mom, him and Emily, Uncle Vance and Uncle Marvin and his wife, Amy. Grandma had sucked it up and gone on with the business and with life, but she’d never stopped missing Grandpa until the day she died.
Just like Fia would never stop missing Scott, and her friends would never stop missing their husbands. It could prove a bit of tough competition for some people, but Elliot was nothing if not tough.
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