The Bad Boy of Bluebonnet(6)
“Well, I’m going to let you start on this,” she said, waving a hand. “And I’ll work on lunch.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he said as he ripped one of the boards down with his bare hands.
Mercy. That was…impressive.
~~ * * * ~~
“Another bowl?” Emily asked, unable to keep the pleasure out of her voice.
“Please,” Jericho said, and held his now-empty fourth bowl of soup out to her. “That’s some incredible shit.”
She laughed and ladled another spoonful into his bowl. “I’m glad you like it.”
He pointed his spoon at his bowl. “So is this you that’s amazing or is this chicken and dumplings?”
“A little bit from column A and a little bit from column B?” She refreshed his iced tea. “I’m sorry it’s not something nice and cool to eat. I know you must be working up a sweat outside.”
“You kidding me? This is amazing.”
She couldn’t help but preen a little under his compliments. “I had some leftover chicken and dough so I thought I’d make some. It’s one of my favorite things to eat.”
Jericho spooned another heaping mouthful between his lips and gave her a thumbs up. She laughed and began to wipe down her counters, thinking about what to bake next. Baking always eased her mind, and she’d promised the police department of Bluebonnet fresh muffins for a month for checking her house out at two in the morning last weekend.
They’d found nothing, surprise surprise. She was starting to think her ghosts were just messing with her. She got out her muffin tins and began to pull ingredients out on the counter.
Jericho waved his spoon at her. “So what’s with all the Martha Stewart stuff? You one of those anti-feminists?”
Emily made a face at him. “You’re kidding, right? I can’t enjoy baking without being an anti-feminist? Assumptions much?”
“Kinda like when people assume others are criminals just because they drive a Harley.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Touché.”
But he only winked at her. “I’m teasing you. We started off on the wrong foot but we’re cool now.”
With a small smile, Emily shook her head and pulled a carton of fresh blueberries out of her fridge. “I like to bake. It soothes me. Some people knit, some people scrapbook, I bake for everyone in town. And today, I owe the police department muffins.”
“Why’s that? You got a sweetheart there?”
“For a handyman, you sure do ask a lot of questions about if I’m dating or not,” she said lightly, her heart thrumming a bit.
The look he gave her was heated and made her body flush with pleasure. “I’m trying to suss you out.”
“How so?”
“See if a girl like you would go out with a guy like me.”
Emily’s heart stopped for a second, then began to crash in her breast. “You asking?”
“I am.” Jericho gave her another one of those lazy smiles, but his eyes were keen. Shielded. She suspected that he was waiting for her to say no.
Maybe he didn’t realize just how lonely she was? Emily dumped her blueberries in a colander and began to rinse them in the sink. “Where are we going?”
“You pick. My treat.”
“Can it be low key? Jeans and t-shirt sort of thing?” She would be horribly uncomfortable if they went somewhere fancy.
The look he gave her was relieved. “My favorite kind of date.”
“Movie? There’s a little theater a few towns over that has the new releases.”
“I think I can handle that. Tomorrow night, maybe? I’ll finish up your eaves today, and it’ll give you some time to miss me.”
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
Emily Allard-Smith, local lonely divorcee, had a date.
~~ * * * ~~
It was kinda stupid to be nervous for a date with a soccer mom, Jericho figured. Yet, he was.
Not that Emily was a soccer mom. She wasn’t even a mom. But she was the type – cardigan sweater, neat blonde ponytail, baking wholesome cookies in the kitchen of her big fancy house.
Emily wasn’t his type in the slightest. Jericho tended to go for girls that had a slightly rougher life. Chicks with tats and piercings that could swig a beer (or a shot of whiskey) as casually as breathing.
But there was something about Emily he liked. Oh sure, he hadn’t exactly cared for her snotty attitude when he’d first arrived – but she’d manned up and apologized, and had been friendly and helpful while he’d worked. She was a funny conversationalist, didn’t mind getting her hands dirty, and had a lovely, pouty pink mouth that he couldn’t stop staring at.