salt, exploded in her mouth.
But that wasn’t why Josie was enjoying the bite.
Nope.
York was staring at her, his green eyes darker and hooded now. She had meant the gesture to be teasing and funny. Instead, it had been erotically charged. She’d all but mimicked given the man a blowjob, and all because she wanted to see his dimples. Those were nowhere to be seen. York was too busy devouring her with his eyes.
“And?” he rasped after their gazes had been locked in a static silence.
It took Josie’s brain a second to get back online. She swallowed her mouthful.
“It was delicious.”
She wasn’t talking about the pretzel. That had been gross. What she was referring to was the hunger burning in York’s stare.
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” he teased, still caught up in the intense thoughts that were playing across his face.
“York,” she breathed his name. “Mustard on a pretzel is nasty.”
He frowned. “Then…” Realization sparked in his features, and Josie blushed about twenty shades of red.
York was still for a beat. Josie was momentarily terrified that she had been too forward. But who was she kidding? She had already seen the man nearly naked, she’d touched his bare skin, and she had eaten food from his fingertips.
Something about York made her bold.
It was like her courage was a snake, and he was the snake charmer, pulling her out from the shadows.
“You have to redeem yourself because of this, you know,” she teased. “Quick, tell me what your favorite meal is. And know that your answer will be severely judged.”
York munched on his pretzel as he thought through his response. “I’ve got it. My favorite thing to eat is a nice spider roll.”
“Sushi?” Josie was pleasantly surprised. “Which one is the spider roll again?” She did love sushi, but the names were very rarely representative of what was actually found in the delicious rolled up rice.
“It’s crab tempura, avocado, cucumber, and spicy mayo.” York sighed. “Now I want sushi.” He eyed his pretzel as if it was offending him for not being sushi, but he took another bite out of it anyway. “What about you?”
“I can bet you that you’ve never had what I’m about to say.”
“I don’t know,” he teased. “I’ve been around for a long time. I’ve eaten a lot of stuff.”
“Not this, and not how my Gammy makes it. It’s a green bean casserole.”
York shook his head. “I can’t say that I’m familiar with it. What does it consist of?”
“Well, mostly green beans mixed in with cream of mushroom soup, and topped with some french fried onions.” Josie rolled her eyes when he blanched. “I know it sounds strange, but you can’t say it’s nasty until you’ve had it. It’s the best thing ever. When I’m homesick, that’s what I make. Just don’t tell anyone that I smuggle cream of mushroom soup and french fried onions in my luggage when I travel.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it that it’s as good as you say.”
“Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll make it for you one day.” Josie winked at him to let him know that she was joking.
She wasn’t in the habit of cooking for men, not that he needed to know that. This was barely even a date, she was hardly going to start praising her very fake and rather sub-par homemaking skills.
“You travel a lot for your work?” York asked.
She shrugged. She traveled for both of her jobs, but she couldn’t flat out say that to him. “I do, yeah. My apartment is in my hometown, in Buffalo, but sometimes I don’t even know why I keep it. I’m only there maybe two weeks out of the month. I go where the work is. My aunt Marcy runs the antique shop now. She has since…since my parents died when I was in middle school.” She cleared her throat, hoping he didn’t press for more details. But if anyone would understand the desperate need to not talk about the dead, it would be York. “Anyway, now I’m the one who is on the road to buy up our inventory. Sometimes, like what I’m doing for your mom, I’m hired to catalog estates before they’re put up for sale at auctions. Those are always a good deal because I get first pick on stuff. I found a writing desk in the attic of this old man’s house. It had been made in France in 1678, if you can imagine. The family didn’t even care that it was