Seeing Red(28)

“So, you don’t mind? I did try to call on the way here. Also called Sharon to get your house number, but she said you didn’t have one.”

Meg shook her head and drew in some air when she finally let her gaze settle on his face. He was an attractive man with that coloring and the masculine cut of his features, but when he showed those moments of tentativeness, there was a vulnerability that seemed to enhance it all. The shyness humanized the big man. He had to know how people saw him. They wouldn’t know he wasn’t the sort of man who’d throw his weight around, but Meg did now. He didn’t abuse his capacity. She wasn’t afraid of him.

“I don’t have a landline phone anymore,” she said, then broke her gaze. Kneeling down to the cabinet where she stored small appliances, she drew out her slow cooker and set it on the counter. “Got rid of it a couple of years ago. I wasn’t using it for anything but ordering pizza.”

“That’s pretty much all I use mine for.”

“See?” She smiled and let the cabinet door clap closed. “Italian beef for dinner? Picked up some great soft buns at the store that are good all on their own. Got any aversions to pepperoncinis?”

As if the man had ever missed a free meal.

“I hate pepperoncinis!” Toby called.

Meg sighed and opened the spice cabinet. “You’ve never had pepperoncinis.”

After a moment, Toby said, “Oh.”

“You don’t have to cook,” Seth said, stilling her movements by placing his big hand over her right wrist. “You’re just getting home. I’ll just have whatever you two were going to have or I can go out and bring us back something later. Or I can go harass Curt and Erica. She’s always annoyed when I’m in town and don’t come eat.”

“No,” Meg said, perhaps with a bit too much snap. She wrapped her left fingers around his wrist, and tried to smile, but it felt forced. Unpracticed.

The truth was, she was glad to see him. Glad he’d come over on his own, so she wouldn’t have to ask.

The thought of spending another night alone in a big bed seemed so goddamned defeating, she’d planned on sleeping on the sofa. And the more she thought about it, the more it became clear that it wasn’t just any man’s body she wanted in her bed. There was something especially appealing about the one standing in front of her at the moment. She tried to be rational about it. Maybe she just liked him because he was nice to her, and after all those years with Spike, she needed kindness.

But, weren’t kind men the ones you rebounded with and moved on when the next bad boy came along?

He squeezed her hand and quirked an eyebrow up at her.

She swallowed, and forced her tense shoulders down to their natural position. “I mean…I’m really making it for the leftovers. Can recycle it into a couple of other dishes. You’re not putting me out.”

He didn’t seem to believe it, judging by the way he gnawed at his bottom lip.

“Really,” she insisted. She tightened her grip on his hand, knowing she should let go, but she didn’t want to.

His chest expanded with his deep draw of air, and he exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry I won’t be here for the leftovers,” he said. With his free hand, he tucked back the swath of hair that’d fallen over her eyes.

“I hate leftovers!” Toby shouted.

Meg opened her mouth to rebut, but Seth got the drop on her, and said to the boy without looking at him, “Leftovers are what make us way cooler and smarter than other primates.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that whole civilization thing has nothing to do with that,” she said. Finally, she withdrew her hands and peeled plastic off the meat. She’d have to cook that thing on high for it to be done by dinner.

“You think there would be civilization without smart women figuring out ways to make one chicken last four days?”

“Now that would be impressive.”

He shrugged and scratched at the edges of the medical tape on his arm. “My grandmother did it all the time.”

Meg opened her mouth to tell him how awful that sounded, but at the last minute thought better of it.

“Perhaps on Sunday there’d be a roast. By Wednesday, there’d be soup.”

“And on Saturday?” She curled her fingers around the drawer handle, and she met that hypnotizing stare of his once more.

His lips quirked up into a grin that wasn’t quite joyous. “There was a lot of cabbage. Potatoes. Carrots. Fortunately, my babushka was a creative woman. I was never truly hungry, even if what was on my plate wasn’t particularly presentable.”

Meg couldn’t imagine living that way. Growing up, she’d never wanted for anything. Never had occasion to. Her father was well employed, and her mother had entered the marriage with money of her own. As an adult, Meg had always had a fallback, if she needed it. She hadn’t in a long while, and she was thankful for that. She never wanted to draw on her parents that way again unless things were truly dire.