it was enough to make her chicken and rice casserole. She put the casserole in the oven so the grated cheese she’d sprinkled on top would melt, and then she whipped up a salad and carried it into the dining room before the guests started to arrive.
One guest had already arrived.
She stopped short when she saw Valentine sitting at the table. He was looking out the window and so lost in thought he didn’t notice her. He had changed out of the western shirt and jeans he had worn earlier into his black dress pants and designer shirt. He looked like the suave, arrogant author who had first come to the boardinghouse. The one she had despised. But back then she hadn’t known Valentine. She hadn’t known the insecure writer who worried about people liking his work. Or the bullied Double Diamond boy who just wanted to belong. Or the kind man in glasses who washed her dishes, mowed her lawn, and took a picture that made her feel beautiful.
Now she did.
With the way her heart was thumping at just the sight of him, she didn’t know if discovering what lay beneath his sophisticated author persona was a good thing. Get a grip, Reba Dixon, she mentally scolded herself. Valentine Sterling was a heartbreak just waiting to happen, and she needed to remember that. She also needed to remember her plan to save the boardinghouse. Shifting the salad to one hand, she took her cellphone out of her pocket and snapped a picture.
At the soft click, Valentine turned and lifted an eyebrow.
“Hey, if you can take pictures of me, I can take pictures of you.” She put her cellphone back and carried the salad over to the table. “I think I’ll entitle it ‘Pensive bestselling author plotting.’”
He gracefully rolled to his feet. “I should’ve been plotting.”
“If not plotting, then what were you daydreaming about?”
“I was thinking about your Granny Dovey’s story and waiting for supper. Your Aunt Gertie made it clear she doesn’t put up with late guests.”
“You didn’t have to come down. We made a deal.”
“One that you shouldn’t have made. You do enough without bringing me food.” His gaze dropped and he frowned. “What happened to your arms?”
“I got in a fight with a pyracantha bush and Butler over a roasted chicken.”
“I’d say the bush and cat won. Are you okay?” The concern in his eyes made her heart start thumping again. She quickly turned and walked to the china cabinet to get her great-grandmother’s china that they’d used for boardinghouse meals since Reba could remember.
“Actually, I’ve had better days,” she said as she pulled out a stack of plates. “Besides Butler stealing a chicken, the water valve under the sink busted and sprayed water everywhere until I could get the main valve shut off. But on the bright side, your posts seem to be working and we’ve gotten three new guests.”
He moved up behind her and the oxygen in the room seemed to disappear. “You shouldn’t be excited about getting new guests when you already have your hands full. Here, let me help.” He took the plates from her.
“I like my hands full,” she said, and then cringed when she realized how sexual that sounded. “I mean, I like keeping busy.”
“There’s such a thing as being too busy, Reba.” He carried the plates to the table. Once he wasn’t so close, she could breathe again. She got the silverware and napkins out of a drawer and followed behind him.
“So did the sheriff show up out at the Double Diamond?” she asked.
“Not while I was there, but I’m sure he’ll show up eventually.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Thank you, but I’ll handle the sheriff.” He set down the last plate and then took the napkins from her. She followed behind him, placing the silverware.
She didn’t know why the simple act of a setting a table together suddenly felt so intimate, but it did. As she watched his long, graceful fingers fold each napkin, then smooth it out before carefully placing it next to each plate, she felt like she was watching him perform some kind of sensual foreplay.
As they worked together as a team, a fantasy played out in her head. A fantasy that included Valentine using his napkin-folding skills on her. She wanted him to roll up her shirt and carefully fold down the cups of her bra, then she wanted him slide his hands over her breasts and stroke his thumbs over each aching nip—
“Now who’s woolgathering?”
She snapped