“Why?”
“Because all the necessary stuff is on the outside. The aisles contain the crap that’s not necessary but that TV tells us we want. Like cereal.”
Luc’s eyes lit up. “Fruity Pebbles. I haven’t had those in years.”
I grabbed his arm before junk food distracted him. “Let’s start with produce.”
After some debate over what to have for dinner, I prevailed with a salad and Luc’s fettuccine (which is to die for). We also got some ice cream for dessert and a box of cereal for Luc. On our way to pay for our groceries, we passed a display that smelled distinctly familiar.
I gasped. “No way.”
Luc stopped the cart next to me. “What’s up?”
Staring in disbelief, I pointed at the colorful display. “See these aromatherapy products?”
“Yeah.” He picked up a bottle of massage lotion and studied the label. “So?”
“My next-door neighbor makes them.”
When Rainbow had told me about her enterprise, I imagined homey, crafts-fair kinds of products. These were glossy and professional. They were colorful, elegant little bottles that made you want to buy.
“Looks good.” Luc tossed the bottle into the cart. “We’ll have to try it.”
We?
He raced toward the checkout line. I rushed after him to ask him what he meant, but he was already exchanging football commentary with the checker and laughing like they were old friends.
He probably just meant the royal
we
.
It was a short ride to Luc’s from the store. I thought I’d get a chance to peek in the toy store bag as I helped him carry everything in, but he slapped my hand back and told me to behave.
Pout.
Luc fairly bounced the whole way up to his loft. He set his bags down and rustled in his pocket for the house keys.
I eyed him suspiciously. “You’re awfully buoyant this evening.”
He grinned over his shoulder as he unlocked the door. “I’m spending the evening with my most favorite person in the world. Of course I’m buoyant.” He shoved the door open, scooped up his bags, and walked in, leaving the door open for me.
I could only stare at him disappearing into his loft. I shouldn’t have been surprised to hear that. After all, Luc was my most favorite person too. But I couldn’t help being shocked into muteness.
“Hey, squirt! Are you coming in or not?”
Okay, that snapped me out of it. “Don’t call me squirt.” I headed straight for the kitchen and set the bags on the counter. “I’m no squirt. I’ve totally outgrown that nickname.”
Luc glanced at me from behind the freezer door. “You’re the same size you were when we met.”
“That’s because women mature early.”
The way he grinned made him resemble a wolf. “I remember.”
Impossible. Ignoring him was the best course of action, so I began putting away what we’d bought.
“I’ll take that.” Luc snatched the cheese out of my hand. “You go change.”
“Change? What for?”
“So you don’t get your work clothes dirty. You’re going to help me cook.”
I wrinkled my nose. I don’t cook, and Luc knows it. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“It’s an excellent idea.” He gave me a sly look. “Scared you can’t do it?”
“Whatever.”
He grinned. Damn him—he knew he struck a nerve. “Then hop to it.”
“I have nothing to change into.”
“Come on. I’ll find you something.” He led me up the spiral metal stairs to his bower (his word, not mine). After rifling through a drawer, he pulled out a T-shirt and handed it to me. “Wear this.”
“Only?” I actually squeaked.
“It’s longer than most skirts women wear.”
I stared at it. “Not me.”
“A pity, I know.” He tugged the same dratted strand that’d escaped my bun again and left me to change.
“You’re always trying to get me out of my suits,” I grumbled as I took off my jacket.
“It’s my purpose in life,” he called up the stairs.
I made a face in his general direction and changed. He was right—drat him—the shirt came all the way down to my knees.
Still, there seemed something vaguely disconcerting about hanging around a man’s house in only a T-shirt. The underwear I had on (yes, the new stuff Luc bought me) hardly counted as a layer. It was more like froth.
I blinked when I realized what I’d just thought. A man’s house? Since when was Luc a man?
I mean, I’ve always been aware of his gender, but I’ve never really been
aware
. Kind of like how you’re aware a Barbie doll is female, but at the same time it’s not—because it’s sexless.
Luc wasn’t sexless anymore.
Okay—different train of thought.
My, his bed looked cushy. I poked a finger at the thick down comforter and thought how cozy it must be to sleep in there.
I flushed deep red as an image of Luc sprawled under there rooted in my mind and ran down to escape—I mean, help with dinner.
Luc’s loft was minimal, which accentuated its hugeness. From the top of the stairs, the openness of the space was even more exaggerated. I could see the front entrance, the main living area, the kitchen toward the back, and the small alcovelike office he’d created to the other side.
I don’t know how Luc did it, but his loft was so homey. His furniture was mostly off-white but there were flashes of warmth all over, from the large paintings on the walls to the pillows and knickknacks all over. He always gave me the furniture he was getting rid of but I could never recreate the atmosphere of Luc’s place.
But having my own home was going to make all the difference.
“About time,” Luc said when I walked into the kitchen. “Here.”
I looked down at the pot he handed me. “You can’t seriously want me to cook.”
“Why not?” He took out a pan and set it on a low flame.
“Because—” I floundered a bit at the faith-filled way he looked at me. “I’m no Julia Child. I tax my knowledge of the kitchen by opening a can of tuna.”
He laughed. “God, Kat, you’re so funny.”
“Did you know on average Americans eat eighteen acres of pizza every day? I think we should do our part to help.” I set the pot down and reached to grab the phone off the wall.
Luc caught my hand before I picked it up. He pulled me closer to him and tipped my chin up with a finger. “I’m right here, helping you out. This is going to be easy. No big deal.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’d think after all these years you’d trust me.”
My heart cringed at the hurt in his voice. “I do trust you. Really.”
“Then trust me when I say you can do this.”
As I gazed into his cloudless eyes, I felt like he was talking about more than making the pasta, but my mind couldn’t wrap itself around what that might be. He was standing so close and he smelled so right I could practically see his pheromones doing a snake charmer’s dance to lure me. I swayed toward him, wondering if he’d taste as exciting as he smelled.
Shit.
I stepped back before I did something I’d regret forever. He couldn’t help his pheromones any more than I could help mine with Rebecca and that bartender.
His gaze was shuttered, and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Just as well. My cheeks scorched as I imagined the thoughts that were probably running in his head.
I cleared my throat. “I could probably boil some water without ruining it.”
“Do that,” he said finally. “I’m going to change.”
Oh great. Now he was mad at me. I grabbed the pot and banged it into the sink. I twisted the tap and frowned at the water.
Luc’s arm slid around my waist and his chin rested on top of my head. “No worries, Kat. I love you.”
I relaxed against his chest. “Even if I’m socially inept?”
“Especially because you’re socially inept.” I heard the laughter in his voice so I didn’t pretend to take offense. He dropped a kiss on my temple and left to change his clothes.
Making dinner with Luc turned out to be lots of fun. He was right—I wasn’t as bad a cook as I thought. In fact, dinner turned out great. Through dinner, Luc grinned each time I exclaimed how excellent it was. Every now and then he’d say something to allude to the fact that maybe one day I’d believe he always spoke the truth.
I knew that, though.
Luc cleaned up and I made myself a cup of tea, which I took into the living room. Curling onto the couch, I held my cup between my hands and studied the painting that took up most of the far wall.
I’d seen it lots of times. In fact, I remembered when Luc bought it (and the shock when I heard how much he’d spent). But staring at it now, I realized it looked familiar. The colors were bold and the shapes indistinct, though it seemed like if you stared at it long enough it might make a picture—like those optical illusion posters.
Luc padded into the room with a glass of water and the bag from the toy store.
“The painting”—I pointed at it—“is Gary’s, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. He’s really talented.” Luc sat on the floor in front of me, his back against the couch, and looked at it. “I like the honesty in his work. The way he cuts down to the essence of his subjects.”
I scrunched my lips as I studied it. It looked like a bunch of splotches to me, but what did I know about art?
My attention was diverted from the painting when Luc started taking things out of the bag.
“Can I look now?” I leaned over his shoulder. “What is it?”
He lightly smacked my hand when I reached for one of the little containers. “Be a good girl and I’ll let you play.”
“I am a good girl,” I protested.
He grinned up at me and then went back to arranging the little containers on his glass coffee table.
“Are those paints?” I got down on the floor next to him and picked one up. I raised my brows at him. “Finger paints? I haven’t finger painted since—” I frowned. Actually, I couldn’t remember ever doing it before.
“That’s why I got them. You need some fun in your life.” He took out a couple of pads of thick paper and set them on the table. “You’re too serious.”
“I am not.” I crossed my arms. “I have fun all the time.”
Luc gave me the shortest sidelong glance ever, but he still managed to convey his disbelief loud and clear.
“I do too have fun. All the time.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Like when?”
“Like at work.”
“Kat.” He said it gently, like he was breaking some seriously bad news to me. “Work is work. It’s not entertainment.”
My arms tightened across my chest. What was he talking about?
“Here.” He handed a piece of paper. “Let loose. Humor me.”
Fine. I scooted off the couch, knelt in front of the table, and snatched it from him. Opening the jar of red paint still in my hand, I dipped my finger in. Eew—I could feel it ooze under my nail.
I stabbed at the paper, not sure what to do. Then I had an inspiration. With an evil grin, I set to painting at a furious pace, mixing the other colors Luc had opened as well.
Within minutes I was done. I held my fists up in triumph. “Yes!”
Luc glanced at me from his painting. “Done already?”
“I’m not just done—I’ve created a masterpiece.” I held it up for him to see.
He studied it, tilting his head to look at it from different angles. Finally he asked, “What is it?”
“It’s you. See the horns?” I grinned maniacally when he narrowed his eyes at me. Take that.
“Cute, squirt.” He drawled out the nickname only because he knew it’d drive me insane.
I’d show him. I grabbed a second piece of paper and began another portrait of him. I reached for the jar of green paint and scooped out a glob. The better to paint scales with.
Intent on drawing a snake with Luc’s face, I didn’t register the feeling of cold wetness tickling my leg until it was too late. I glanced down and gasped at the blue streak on my bare leg. “What the hell?”
Luc grinned, looking like a mischievous little boy. “It looked like it needed color.”
“Luc! You’re going to get paint all over your furniture.” I held still, imagining streaks of color staining his expensive rug. And the couch ...
Holding my gaze, Luc drew another deliberate line down my shin.
Fine. Two could play this game. I snatched the jar of red.
Luc’s grin widened as he armed himself with not only the blue but the yellow too.
First strike was mine. I managed to get a streak of red down his cheek and his neck before he tapped a blue blob on my nose. I didn’t waste any time swiping at it. Instead I armed my finger with more paint and smeared his arm.