Page 12

“ H ow’s it taste?” Mullens asked, leaning against the counter in the bookshop’s kitchen. It was just the two of them and the camera on an early Saturday morning, having graduated from Nuvella and Howell’s school of film making.

Athena had teased him like they were friends earlier in the week when they’d ridden the elevator together. She’d maybe even flirted a bit, revealing that playful side he’d seen her expose only when she thought he wasn’t around.

He’d been unable to sleep or focus since that ride. His thoughts had been stuck, wondering what might have happened if the elevator doors hadn’t opened.

Would he have kissed her? Would she have let him?

That would have been a miracle—as big as her seeming to have forgiven him for the whole photo shoot mishap. Then again, maybe he’d just caught her in a moment in that elevator, because today she was hyper-focused, her mind clearly not on him.

He missed fun Athena and wanted her to come out and play.

For the camera.

Ha. Who was he kidding? He wanted all of Athena, and preferably in his arms.

“The walnuts?” he prompted, when she didn’t answer his earlier question.

Athena, concentrating more than he figured was necessary on slicing a fresh pear, grabbed one of the still-warm, lightly candied walnut halves from the dish and held it out. She was in the zone, forgetting about the camera.

It was clear she expected him to put out his palm for it. Instead, he crouched slightly, lining his mouth up with her fingers. Time to make some magic happen.

She jerked in surprise when his warm breath danced across her knuckles. As she flinched, his mouth closed, nipping at her fingers.

“Did you just bite me?” Her dark brown eyes went wide.

“And usually women have to ask,” he replied, waggling his eyebrows.

“How did I get so lucky?” She shook out her hand as though trying to flick away pain. His teeth had barely grazed her, but he knew that wasn’t what she was recovering from.

He was messing with her mind.

Athena focused on her pears again, braising them for the arugula salad. She talked to the camera, informing their future viewers about cooking temperatures, what sort of flavors went together, and how to be brave in the kitchen without ruining the entire meal.

“Let me taste.” He was at her elbow, leaning over her dish of pears.

She tipped the bowl toward the camera as if she’d been cooking for an audience all her life. “You’ll notice they’re perfect. Bits of golden edges. Not mushy. Firm in all the right ways.”

“Like me.”

“Like you,” she said absently, spearing a pear with a fork. She held it out. “Careful. It’s hot.”

“So are you.”

Her face turned a cute pink. “It’ll burn your mouth.”

“Let me… blow on it.” He smiled devilishly.

She sighed and knocked the pear off the fork onto a waiting plate, refusing to play with him. “Try it with some dressing.” She whisked the homemade blend, stirring up the various ingredients again before dripping some on the pear. “Drizzle it on top like so….”

He gave the cooked fruit a dubious glance. It didn’t look as gorgeous with the dressing on top.

Athena scooped up the piece with her fingers and took a tentative bite, holding her other hand under her jaw to catch any drips. “Mmm. That’s tasty.”

“You lie.”

“I do not. Try it.”

He tipped his chin in her direction, coming close enough he could practically steal a bite from her.

“Get your own.”

“No.” His mouth darted out, encompassing the pear as well as her fingers.

“Hey!” She tried to jerk her hand away, but he clasped her wrist, holding it in place while he swallowed the fruit, then lazily licked her fingers.

Oh, that was good. That was stirring some things deep down inside, and with her, too, judging from her dazed expression.

His eyes locked on hers and she glared at him without conviction, her voice breathy when she said, “Can you not behave for more than one second?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He watched as she battled with herself about how much to enjoy, how much to let go. A familiar old argument.

This time he hoped she lost.

“Anyone here?” called a voice.

Athena popped up from where she’d been munching on her pear and arugula salad with Chad in the kitchen, studiously avoiding looking at him.

“In here, Jenny!”

Thank goodness her friend was dropping by. Athena had texted her sister to come watch them film under the pretence of wanting feedback, but actually afraid that if she spent much time alone with Chad they’d be filming a sex tape rather than a cooking show.

But Meddy had declined, with a lame excuse that she had to pay the contractor who’d done a few odd jobs on the store. Hadn’t she heard of sending an e-transfer? She could do that from this very kitchen while supervising the filming.

Athena didn’t know why Chad was getting under her skin so badly today. Probably because he was making her want things, and he was all wrong for her.

And his aftershave? How did it smell more tantalizing every time she saw him? She understood why the women in his commercials swooned so convincingly after he patted it on. Those actresses had stolen that paycheck. She’d bet they hadn’t had to “act” even one bit.

“I’m in here!” she called again, weaving her way into the back room, to find Jenny holding a box and peering into the dimness.

Athena hit the lights as her friend explained, “I signed for this yesterday.”

“Meddy, ugh!” Athena took the package and checked the shipping label. “She keeps using this address even though we’re not around enough to receive everything. Thanks for catching this for us.”

“No problem. How’s the store coming along?”

“Slow. Chad and I are filming videos for the cookbook’s channel today.

” Next week she’d be working with a different player, thank goodness.

It had been decided that Chad would feature in every other show, giving her a much needed reprieve to collect herself and inform her ovaries about the reality of genetics—that they weren’t related to seahorses and would accept whomever she chose.

“I should get out of your hair,” Jenny said.

“Hey! It’s Dylan’s girl,” Chad said from the kitchen doorway.

She turned bright red. “Uh. No, we’re not—”

“He talks about you.”

“Oh, well. Um.”

“Dylan O’Neill? From the Dragons?” Athena asked, staring at Jenny. She’d heard all about how the two had bickered and butted heads at Thanksgiving. She’d figured they’d burned that potential relationship bridge, then bulldozed the surrounding land for good measure.

“Maybe I’m mistaken.” Chad came closer, bringing the delicious scents of candied fruit and his aftershave with him. “I’m Mullens.”

“Right. I’m Jenny Oliver.”

“So you’re not seeing anyone?” Chad asked. They shook hands, and pink splotches appeared on Jenny’s cheeks when he held hers a beat too long. His smile was kind and so sincere that Athena wanted to throttle him for being such an incurable flirt.

“Oh, uh, not really.”

“What do you look for in a man?”

“Chadwick, leave her alone.”

Wait. Was she feeling jealous of Jenny or protective? It was protectiveness, right? It had to be. Because jealousy would be the height of stupidity and Athena had promised herself she’d left stupid behind when she’d packed up and left Lonnie.

But she couldn’t help noticing that her friend, who was normally pretty feisty around the opposite sex, seemed a bit awed by Chad.

Yeah, she got it. He had this way of turning women into gooey puddles— all women. So fight it, girl. The man was such a player.

“Seriously, Chad, boundaries,” Athena scolded. “Not every woman wants to be another conquest. Do you not have a sister? What if Jenny is someone’s sister? Would you want some playboy macking on her?”

Chad’s expression went blank, his mouth a stony line. Athena sighed. Seriously, of all the things she rode him about, he was going to get butt-hurt over his very public flirtatious reputation?

“Come on,” she said, battling her rising guilt over his sudden drop in mood. “You have a new woman on your arm in every photo.”

“I’m not dating them,” he said moodily.

“Exactly!”

“Or…that.”

“You’re not sleeping with them? Just snapping pics for social media?” She’d heard that one before.

“That’s right,” he said, his tone suggesting she was dense to have assumed otherwise.

She rolled her eyes and turned to Jenny.

“Speaking of seeing someone,” her friend said, her starry-eyed Chadwick spell broken. “Karen got you a date.”

“What? She did?” Athena clapped a hand over her mouth and stilled her dancing feet. “I totally forgot I’d asked! Is he a professor type?”

“He’s an actual professor!”

“No. Way. January is totally looking up!” A date with a bookworm would be the perfect distraction from this silly thing she had going on between herself and Chad. Not that she likely even registered on his sliding scale of women. “What’s he a professor of?”

“Literature, I think.”

Athena grinned.

“Perfect, right?” Jenny said.

She nodded, already dreaming about a home library with two cozy armchairs, a fireplace and shelves filled with books.

“You don’t have time to date,” Chad said, his tone stern.

Athena glared at him. “Excuse me?”

“You have the shop, the cooking channel and your job as a dietician. You can’t leave us all hanging.”

“Who says I would?”

“Well, this looks like a good time for me to scoot,” Jenny said. “I’ll get Karen to text you his number.”

“Thanks.” Athena turned to Chad, murder pulsing through her veins.

He raised his hands in surrender.

“No, no way.” She pursued him as he backed into the kitchen. “You don’t tell me what to do, and then shut down the conversation when I call you on it.”

“You’re needed by the team.”

“You don’t even have appointments with me anymore.”

“Uh...” His eyes cut left, then right. “Louis put me back on your roster—”

“He what ?” Athena pulled up short, realizing she was actually kind of happy about that. The coach had imposed a ceasefire and now neither of them had to lose face if they wanted to call a truce.