“What?” He had no idea what she was talking about, but he liked the sound of it.
She wiggled her toes. “The color. It’s called Wicked Blue.”
It was a good name. Who knew he would find blue toenails sexy? Unable to resist, his gaze traveled up long legs and over the curves her robe couldn’t hide. A cold shower would probably be a good idea. When he reached her face, what he saw immediately doused his desire.
“You’ve been crying.”
One shoulder lifted in a shrug as she walked past him, picked up the container, and put it back in the refrigerator.
“Hey, give that back. I’m hungry.”
“So am I,” she said. “But I’m in the mood for comfort food.”
“I was comfortable with that one.”
That earned him a small smile, and his mind went to work thinking of other amusing things to say to wipe the tears from her eyes and keep her lips in an upward curve. Unfortunately, he was not a witty man. Evan was always the one with the humorous quips.
“I’m going to make you something special.” She pulled a package of hotdogs out of the fridge.
“Seriously? Hotdogs are your comfort food?”
“Strange, but true. The coffee’s ready. Why don’t you make us a cup and then have a seat while I make you hotdogs like you’ve never had before.”
He saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”
She gave him a look, but he definitely saw her lips twitch. He made their coffee, left hers on the counter, and took his to the table. Reaching over to a radio tucked into a corner, she turned it on, tuning it to a jazz station. He liked jazz, but only late at night. Did she feel the same about the bluesy music? She didn’t seem to want to talk, so he sipped his coffee and sat back to watch her.
After filling a pot with water, she turned on one of the burners and dropped in a bag of rice. From the pantry, she took out a can of diced tomatoes, opened it, and poured the contents into another pot, then added ground pepper and some kind of spice.
“What was that?” he asked.
“Oregano.”
The hotdogs were sliced and then added to the tomatoes. The rice started to boil, and she turned the burner up on the hotdog concoction. Logan had his doubts about whatever she was cooking up, thinking he would have preferred the Chinese leftovers. If it made her happy to eat hotdog soup at two in the morning, though, he would gladly go along.
When she stood on her toes and reached for the bowls, her robe rose up her thighs. He barely managed not to groan. If the woman had a clue what she was doing to him, she would wisely lock herself back in her room. The best thing to do was to close his eyes to the too-enticing view and concentrate on the music.
Though he wasn’t sure, he thought he was listening to Miles Davis playing his trumpet. The sound was earthy and intimate, and he imagined making slow and easy love with Dani to the sounds coming out of the radio. How the picture formed in his mind was a mystery considering . . . well, considering.
His eyes popped open, and he shifted uncomfortably, glad he was wearing his sweats instead of tight jeans. She placed a bowl in front of him and sat across from him. Logan looked down at the contents, then up at her.
“This is the strangest use of hotdogs I’ve ever seen.” She’d poured the mixture over the rice, and it smelled surprisingly good.
“It’s my guilty pleasure,” she said, and dug into her meal.
He spooned some and took a tentative taste. Okay, that was good. Following her example, he dug in, scraping the bottom of the bowl. It was the perfect comfort food: simple, tasty, and filling. He caught her watching him and raised a brow.
“You were a doubting Thomas,” she said.
“You have me there. I couldn’t imagine hotdog soup could be so good.”
Her eyes shimmered in pleasure. “Hotdog soup? I like it. I’ve never been able to think of a name for it. Would you like some more?” Before he could answer, she rushed on. “No, let’s have the brownies and ice cream we never got around to last night.”
He glanced at the clock to see it was three in the morning. Sitting with her in the kitchen at a time when the world around them slept felt intimate. “I’ll make us another cup of coffee.”
Silently working together, they had the coffee and dessert ready and on the table at the same time. It almost seemed as if they’d done this many times before. Had she and Evan ever shared late-night kitchen forays?
“I mean it, Dani. I can’t keep eating like this,” he said, swallowing the last bite of brownies and ice cream.
She groaned and rubbed her stomach. “I wish I could run with you tomorrow, but I can’t leave Regan alone. Suppose you go first and then watch her while I run off some of these calories?”