lets his words fall off, I engage my mouth before my brain and blurt, “How about dinner? I’ll cook for you.”
What the hell am I doing? I have work to do, a house to sell—and the sooner the better. Not only do I never ask men out, I don’t cook. Not well, anyway. Plus, I suck at making small talk. My work is my life and does not make for good dinner conversation. It’s boring to those outside my circle and would likely put this man into a coma. But there is a part of me that feels I owe him something. That horse could have killed me.
“Payment for saving me. It’s the least I can do,” I add. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea here.
“Sure, when?”
“Tonight,” I say. Better to get this over with, so I can turn my focus to more important things. Like work and Gram’s B&B. It’s been vacant for quite some time now and must need repairs before I can list it with a realtor. “If you’re not busy, that is.”
“I’m not busy.”
I grab a notepad from my purse, scribble Gram’s address down, and hold it out to him. “Is seven okay?”
“Sounds great.” With his hands full of lobsters, he gestures toward the pocket in his shirt, and I stuff my paper in, get a feel of his hard pectoral muscles. I quickly pull my hand back and make a move to go, but stop when he says, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
To cop a feel? Nope, nope, already did that.
“No, what?”
“Doug offered you a free ride.” He gestures with a nod. “He does a great tour of the town. You’d probably enjoy it.”
I scan the street, find Doug feeding his horse an apple. I sigh. “Yeah, right after the second coming, or better yet, after I prove that a quantum computer has really followed my instructions and used them correctly.” Which could be at least five more years. The second coming is likely to happen first.
As I head toward my car—wondering why the hell I just talked about my research—his laughter fills the air. The man must think I’m a lunatic. I hurry to my vehicle and work to remember where the grocery store is. I’ll have to get supplies before he shows up, not that I have any idea what to cook for him, and damn, I’m so tired of living off fast food and cupcakes.
I take a fast glance at him over my shoulder, and the strangest little shiver goes through me. Okay, the hot fisherman is a distraction I don’t need. A thank-you dinner tonight, small talk that has nothing to do with my work—I’m not interested in watching him nod off—then I’ll never set eyes on his gorgeous face or body again.
Yeah, I got this. Sort of.
Not really.
Chapter Two
Nate
Crate of lobsters in hand, I stand on the road for a moment and watch Kira climb into her car, a rental judging by the sticker in the window. She gives a quick shoulder check and drives off, disappearing around a corner, out of my sight. What was it she said about quantum computers? I have no idea, and I can’t say as I’ve ever met anyone quite like her before. Cute, quirky, with a sense of humor. The perfect trifecta.
With a face free of makeup, and her mess of hair clipped haphazardly on the top her head, she has that whole girl next door thing going for her. But she looked a little lost when she was crossing the street, like she was having a hard time navigating this small coastal town. Damned if that doesn’t bring the protector out in me. And who the hell smells like cupcakes? I kind of like her, even though she’s different from the women in my social circles.
Tourist season has died down, but it was clear from the start that she wasn’t from around these parts. I guess it takes a CFA (come from away) as they call it here, to know one. But seriously, it’s mid-October, and she’s not dressed for Nova Scotia’s weather. Just last week there were snow flurries.