I push the plate away, even though I don’t believe she’ll bore me. “Done.”
She fiddles with her cup some more and says, “Okay, I’m a mathematician, and what I’m working on is a quantum verification problem. I’m trying to solve the basic question of quantum computation.” She pauses for a second. “Still with me?”
“Still with you,” I say, even though I have no idea what a quantum verification problem is. I hold my hands about six inches apart. “Just use shorter sentences, smaller words,” I tease, and I’m instantly rewarded with a wide smile and laugh.
“Okay, so it’s like this…”
I sit intently as she explains laws of quantum physics and the study of computers that derive their power from them, and while I don’t totally get all of it—or any of it, let’s be real here—I’m still fascinated by her passion, the way her eyes light up and her hands turn animated as she talks. She talks for a good twenty minutes, and I lean back in my chair, kick my legs out, and listen to every word.
Finally she takes a breath, and I briefly close my eyes and try to absorb and rationalize all that she told me. I fail miserably. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it.
“I bet you’re thinking the same thing I am,” she says.
“What’s that?”
“We just found a new humane—or not so humane—way to lull a lobster to sleep.”
I smile at that. “Nope. I was thinking that you’re beautiful and brilliant.”
She blushes and curls a long honey-blonde strand of hair around her finger. Her innocent sexuality gives me an instant boner. I stand, step around the table, and pull her from her chair.
“I…sometimes men can be intimated.” Her eyes search mine likes she’s trying to figure out if I’m that guy.
“I’m impressed, Kira. I really am.”
“Really?” she says quietly. “I usually only impress men in my academic world. For men like you it’s a yawn fest to listen, and then intimidation usually kicks in.”
“Like me?” I say.
“Fishing for a compliment, Nate?” She winks. “See how I did that?”
“Clever,” I tease. “About what I do…” I begin, and she shakes her head.
“Nate, as long as you’re passionate about your job and enjoy what you do, it doesn’t matter to me.”
“I could be an axe murderer, and you’d be okay with it as long as I was passionate about it?” I say playfully.
“Are you an axe murderer?” she asks.
“No. But I could be a stalker.”
“Are you a stalker?”
“Not since the restraining order,” I tease.
“Then kiss me.”
I lower my head, press my lips to hers, and as I kiss her deeply, lose myself in her silky softness, she slides her hands around me, palms my muscles.
“Mmm,” she moans, but that sexy sound mingles with a bang at the back door and a loud moo.
I break the kiss and shake my head. “Cock blocked by a blind cow,” I murmur, and Kira laughs. “Now how often does a guy get to say that in his life?”
Chapter Eleven
Kira
I pull my coat on and run my hand along Gram’s wall. So much work needs to be done to spruce the old place up, it’s a bit overwhelming. I’ve been here almost two weeks, and while I’ve gone over the list the realtor gave me, between my theorem, letters to the Heritage Society, and well, hanging out with Nate and the others, most of the work still needs to be done.
Knuckles rap on the back door, and I walk through the dining room, happy to see the pickle jar has been removed.
It’s Faith. “Hey, come on in,” I say.
She frowns and says, “Just saw the For Sale sign on the front lawn, but no eggshells.”