coat off. It will take just a moment to warm everything up. You can let the cat out. He can’t hurt anything.”
Brock shouldered out of his coat and opened the cat cage. A streak of orange darted from the carrier and bolted toward the back of the apartment. “I think you might have an overnight guest.” Brock shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the kitchen door.
“Why’s that?” She turned to him as she scooped cold chili into a saucepan.
“Fester is loose and hiding.”
“Oh, that’s not a problem. If we can’t get him to come out from wherever he’s camping, we can set up his box here. I like animals.” She handed him a wooden spoon. “Stir this. I’ll be right back.”
Brock blinked at the spoon and watched her leave the kitchen. He stuck the damn thing in the pot and gave it a stir. The smell of chili and beef made his stomach growl. Hell, he hadn’t eaten since that damn cinnamon bun.
The chili was bubbling nicely when she returned. Brock did a double take. She’d changed into an old pair of blue jeans and a long t-shirt. Her hair was down, and holy hell, did she have a lot of hair. It fell to the small of her back, and flirted with her slim waist. He'd bet next month's paycheck that his hands would fit perfectly on her hips. Fuck him. He even noticed the way she smelled. Vanilla and cinnamon with a deeper note of something he couldn't describe. He filled his lungs hoping to catch another waft of scent. Hell, he even noticed the little bumps that ran through her hair caused by the braid she’d wound up in a bun at the back of her head.
“Thanks. The corn bread is in the fridge, bottom shelf. Could you put it in the microwave for a minute?”
“Sure.” He did as she asked, then unbuttoned his shirt sleeves and rolled them up his forearms.
She had the chili on the table along with a dish of soft butter by the time the microwave chimed. “So, tomorrow we work the phone and take a look at whatever else Samuel's left us.”
“Right. But we also need to drop by Treyson Enterprises and talk to the people on the Board.”
She nodded. “What time do you think those executive types get to work?”
He took a bite of chili. A glorious combination of spices, meat, and sauce exploded in his mouth. He closed his eyes and moaned. The low guttural sound filled the kitchen. He opened his eyes and looked straight at the woman he’d known for less than twelve hours. “Woman, you’re going to marry me.”
She threw back her head and laughed. “The chili is that good, huh?”
“Marriage proposal good.” Fuck him, the taste was damn near orgasmic.
“Name the place and time, big boy, but be warned, I’m high maintenance. I demand a lot from the men I ensnare with my cooking.”
He pointed a finger at her. “You accepted. It’s a done deal. Set the date.” He was laughing, but the idea wasn’t all that fucking funny.
“Shut up and eat.” She sectioned the loaf of cornbread and gave him a thick warm slice before she took one. He slathered it in butter and ate. He downed three bowls, and between them, they finished the loaf of cornbread. Conversation centered on the safe topic of the neighborhood and prevented him from acting like a fucking moron—again. Ask a woman you barely know to marry you… yeah, that fell straight into the you-don’t-have-a-fucking-brain-left-in-your-head column.
“Shit, I’m stuffed.” She groaned and picked up her bowl.
Brock picked up his bowl and took hers from her hands, before he snagged the now empty cornbread plate. “You cooked; I’ll clean.” That was his mother’s voice in his head.
“You don’t have to do that. It’s late. I’ll rinse them and throw them in the dishwasher. It’ll take me two minutes.”
Brock put his dirty dishes in the sink and turned, leaning against the counter. He knew he should get going so she could get some sleep, but he didn’t want to leave. He caught sight of the empty cat carrier. “Fester is still MIA.”
“He’s fine. You’ll have to bring up the litter and the food. I’ll make a temporary box until he comes out.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. God, he felt like a teenager. “Thanks for dinner. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a home cooked meal.”
She gave him a look that said ‘bullshit’ better than