“You’d see,” she continued, “that you and Josh greatly differ in that regard. It’s ironic, anyway, that it took Josh dumping me for me to finally be able to fit into the wedding dress of my dreams.”
“Whoever she is, I’m sure she doesn’t even come close to you,” he said before he thought better of it.
She flashed him an uncertain look. “There you go, being nice again.”
"Nice or honest, take your pick,” he grinned.
“I’ve got a lot of people being nice to me these days,” she said wearily. “Too nice. That’s not what I need, especially from you.” Something in her look sent a hot prickle of heat down his spine, but it was gone so fast he was sure he imagined it.
“I’ll do my best to keep that in mind.”
Chapter 2
Molly awoke the next day to a picture perfect fall morning, feeling more vital and alive than she had since, D-day, aka the day Josh dropped the proverbial bomb on their relationship.
It was because it there was still a ton of details to attend to for Ellie and Damon’s rehearsal dinner tonight at Adele’s and tomorrow’s ceremony at the Lazy Creek guest ranch.
It had nothing to do, she told herself, with a certain former special forces soldier turned chef who’d been lurking around the restaurant for the past few days. Managing to look hotter than a five alarm fire when he’d sauntered into the restaurant last night.
Nor did it have anything to do with the way he completely threw her for a loop when, upon learning what had happened between her and Josh, he reacted with genuine sympathy.
She climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt, knowing that between now and this afternoon’s rehearsal she’d likely end up dusty and sweaty from arranging tables and chairs, not to mention covered in food from helping to prepare tonight’s dinner at Adele’s.
After coffee and a granola bar for breakfast, she was on the road. When she got to the restaurant, she tried to ignore the faint skip in her heart at the sight of a familiar black pick-up truck.
Of course Brady had ignored her admonitions that they could handle tonight’s dinner prep when he had offered to help as she was closing up last night.
“Really, you should relax and enjoy yourself,” she told him as he followed her out to her car after locking up. “Now that you’re back, we’ll put you to work soon enough.”
“I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to stay after we shoot the thing for that TV show,” he replied, “so you might as well use me while you have me.”
The inexplicable pang of disappointment that his return might not be permanent was instantly overshadowed by a shock of heat at that particular turn of phrase.
Use me while you have me.
Don’t mind if I do.
She immediately shoved the thought aside, grateful the parking lot was dark enough he couldn’t see her cheeks flushing bright pink.
Leave it to Brady to make her blush without even trying. She shrugged and mumbled something like, “suit yourself,” and bid him a hasty goodnight.
But later as she lay in bed she couldn’t help shake the thought that maybe that naughty inner voice was onto something.
So much so that as she walked across the dining room toward the kitchen, she couldn’t help but feel like every cell in her body was humming with awareness, on high alert at the anticipation of seeing him on the other side of the heavy swinging door.
That hum crescendoed as she pushed open the door and was treated to the sight of his long, lean form stationed at the eight burner gas range. Broad shoulders strained at the seams of a faded black t-shirt worn thin from multiple washings. Though his equally faded jeans weren’t tight, they didn't stop her from appreciating the outline of his firm, nicely rounded butt and the strong muscles of his thighs, shifting as he stirred something in the pot in front of him.
She must have made some small sound because he turned in her direction. “Oh, hey.”
He gave the pot another quick stir and turned the knob with one big, long-fingered hand before he turned fully to face her.
If the sight of his back was enough to make her feel a little bit wobbly, the sight of his front was almost enough to make her legs give out underneath her.
There was the body of course, the way the muscles of his chest and arms rippled even as he did something as non-physical as wipe his hands on the dishtowel hanging at his waist.
She swallowed heavily and forced herself to drag her eyes up from his torso to his strong, tanned throat, up to his face which held an expression she’d never seen there before.
At least, not aimed at her.
He was smiling. And not the knowing, shit-eating grin she’d become accustomed to, the one that said he had a snarky comment on the tip of his tongue as soon as she provided an opening.
No, it was a real smile stretching his full, firm lips, making his thickly lashed, silvery blue eyes gleam.
It was as disconcerting as his sympathy had been the night before.
“How are you this morning?”
“Uh, fine,” she said, forcing her feet to move toward the stove , feeling more ill at ease with this new, nicer version of Brady than she’d ever felt in the face of his derision. “I see you’ve already gotten started,” she remarked. In addition to whatever he had going on the stove, there were several bowls on the prep table already full of perfectly chopped vegetables, while several frenched racks of lamb were spread out on a large sheet pan. “You didn’t have to come in so early,” she said, then inwardly winced at how peevish that sounded.
Fortunately he didn't seem to notice. “I woke up early, got my workout in, and figured I might as well get started,” he said. “Joe delivered fresh-picked cranberries this morning so I made a chutney to go with the lamb. Tell me if you think it’s okay,” he said, motioning her over to the stove.
She stepped closer, bent her head over the heavy sauce pot as Brady dipped a spoon into the thick, deep red concoction.
Aromas of ginger, garlic, and citrus hit her along with the tart sweetness of the cranberries. A sharp pain hit her in the stomach, and for a split second she feared she was going to be sick all over Brady’s hand.
Then she realized the sensation for what it was.
Hunger.
The feeling that dogged her day in and day out as she desperately tried to peel off a few pounds in preparation for her non-wedding, which had miraculously disappeared the day Josh dumped her. And, as Brady had noticed, taken away those unwanted pounds and then some.
For the last month, even as she was surrounded by food, preparing recipes that had once made her curse Brady’s name even as she couldn’t stop shoveling the food in her mouth, she hadn’t been tempted to sample even a bite.
Now, with him holding a spoon at her lips with one hand while the other strayed dangerously close to her jaw as it cupped underneath, she was suddenly so famished she knew she could hoover down one of Adele’s oversize cheeseburgers and still have room for a massive slice of her key lime pie.
She let Brady slide the spoon between her parted lips, closing her eyes as her tongue was hit with sweet, spice, and savory all at once. The thought of it paired with the richness of the lamb was enough to make her stomach roar in anticipation.
“Amazing, and I don’t even like cranberry sauce,” she opened her eyes and met Brady’s gaze, and what she saw there sent a hunger of an entirely different kind flooding through her system.
Heat blazed out from those light eyes as they fixated on her mouth, and emanated from his skin, making her own prickle with awareness. His own lips parted, his tongue flicking across the lower one as though he was wondering what she tasted like.
And incredibly, insanely, in that instant Molly was more than happy to let him find out.
The clatter of the spoon hitting the stovetop jarred her out of her fog.
“Glad you like it,” he said tightly and abruptly stepped away. “Hopefully Ellie will be okay with the change in the menu.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine with it,” Molly said to his back as he walked quickly to the walk in cooler, wondering now if she’d imagined the look on his face.
As the hours wore on, she became more and more convinced that she had. They worked together in near silence, Brady sparing only a few words here and there to answer a question or offer up a piece of advice.
Why do you even care?
she asked herself. She should be counting herself lucky that he had finally decided to treat her with some level of courtesy, instead of peppering her with innuendos and flirtatious comments meant only to put her on edge.
Yet as the silence wore on, she found herself only becoming more aware of him. The large kitchen closed in around her, his big, muscular body seeming to take up all the space. Standing next to him at the prep table, slicing vegetables for the night’s meal, she swore she could pick up his rich, masculine scent even over the aromas of the kitchen.
Though, to be fair, it wasn’t the silence or his change in demeanor that made her hyper aware every time she got within ten feet of him.
If she was honest with herself, that had started the instant he walked into the restaurant with Damon all those months ago, and assessed her with that glittering gaze. It has startled her, given he was so opposite of what she’d always thought of as her type.
Namely, Josh. Who was tall but not too tall, athletically built but not too muscle bound, good looking in a clean cut, clean shaven kind of way. A man who put visions of mini vans and picket fences into a girl’s head. A man who made her feel safe.
Brady, in contrast, with his too big body, muscular arms banded with tattoos, and perpetual five o’clock shadow dusting his granite hard jaw, all but reeked of danger.
Couple that with the molten silver eyes that looked at her like he knew all of her secrets and a cacophony of warning bells to stay as far away as she could sent a deafening echo through her brain.
So she’d put up an icy wall and done everything to make it clear that that while nearly every other woman with a pulse appeared ready to drop her panties at his invitation, she was utterly immune to his dubious charms.
Of course, Brady had only taken that as an opportunity to double down, apparently deciding it was his mission to get a reaction out of her at every turn.
“Here,” he said, his gruff voice interrupting her work. A plate containing a perfectly browned sandwich oozing with cheese plunked down in front of her. “Lunch.”
She shook her head automatically. “I’m not—“
“Eat it,” he said in a tone he must have learned from years of dealing with drill sergeants, and walked away as if that was that.
She shook her head. She never thought she’d miss his delight in making her uncomfortable and his incessant need to keep her on edge.
At least then he’d seemed engaged, interested in her presence even if it was just to entertain himself by getting a rise. She’d take that any day over this bland friendliness bordering on indifference.
“Eat,” he repeated. “I don’t want you to lose another ounce of that ass.”
She felt her cheeks heat as she struggled for a comeback. As usual, she came up blank.
She shot him a glare instead and then looked back to the sandwich. It
did
look good, she admitted begrudgingly. And she hadn’t eaten anything but a granola bar this morning. She really should eat it, if just for the fuel. She took a bite, the buttery crispness of the bread and the hot, melted cheese. How was it possible that for weeks everything had tasted like cardboard and in the space of a couple of hours Brady had fed her two of the best bites of food she’d ever put in her mouth.
It’s just a grilled cheese,
she tried to tell herself as she took another bite. But no, it wasn’t just any grilled cheese. It was on the special sourdough bread they got from the bakery down the street every morning, and there were at least two, maybe even three different kinds of cheeses on there.
It was a
Brady
grilled cheese and, as much as she hated to admit it, that meant it was by definition superior to all other grilled cheeses—
“Do you have to do that?” he snapped, halting her inner ode to bread and cheese.
“Do what?” she said around a bite of cheesy awesomeness.
“Make that, that face,” he sputtered “while you’re eating.”
“What’s wrong with my face?” She set the remaining half of the sandwich back on the plate, dying of self-consciousness. As if she didn’t have enough issues with food, now she was making a face?
He opened and closed his mouth several times as if searching for the words. “Never mind,” he finally muttered. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” He turned and started walking towards the back door.
“Wait.” She caught his arm before he could leave. “You can’t say something like that and not tell me what you mean. If I’m making some weird, gross face while I’m eating I need to know.”
“It’s not gross,” he said, his shoulders slumping as he turned to face her.
She waved her hand in a beckoning motion, hoping he’d elaborate.
He closed his eyes, sighed. “Sometimes, when you’re eating, when you’re really enjoying something…”
A memory popped into her head, unbidden.
If that's the look you get on your face when I feed you I can only imagine…
Her cheeks heated as she sensed where this was going.
The sensible part of her brain warned her to let it go, unsure if she was prepared to deal with the consequences of prodding Brady when he’d clearly made a decision to keep his comments in check.
The naughty little voice that had floated the idea of taking Brady up on his offer to use him while she had him had other ideas.
“But, your food is so delicious.” She picked up the sandwich, broke off a piece, and pushed it into her mouth, making sure her finger followed. “Mmmmm,” she gave an exaggerated groan, as she chewed and swallowed. “Don’t you want to see people enjoying it?” She licked at the corner of her mouth as though to check for crumbs.
That hot look was back in his eyes, and the muscles of his forearms were twitching as his fingers flexed and relaxed. His shoulders were tense beneath the fabric of his t-shirt, his body coiled tight like he was holding himself back.