Chapter Six

Stuffed and satisfied, I shoved back my chair and went to pick a new album on my MP3 player. Just like I’d planned, the guests’ minds had been blown at dinner tonight. Since they left, I’d been working on blowing Morgan’s mind too.

“Does anyone call you Daniel, or just Dan?”

I looked up from scrolling through tunes. “Only my family. But I like it.” I smiled. “Especially the way you say it.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned back on two chair legs. “Daniel, this meal was… Amazing. Delicious. Incredible. Honestly, I can’t find words to do it justice.”

My heart bubbled in my chest. Nothin’ better than making someone else feel good. Except making Morgan feel good. She even beat out my mom and sisters.

Damn. Seriously?

Maybe.

“How’d you end up becoming a chef, anyway?”

“My dad died when I was ten, so I helped out a lot with my kid sisters. Took over cooking and cleaning while Mom worked.”

Morgan’s eyes went wide, and I braced for the usual sympathetic comments.

“I’m so sorry. That must’ve been hard.”

“It was a bummer, but it was a long time ago. And it all worked out.” I shrugged and grabbed our empty plates. Took them over to the sink while Mick sang the truth about getting what you want. “I sucked at school, and didn’t find out I was dyslexic until senior year. By then I’d already decided what I wanted to do, and cooking school and me were like meat and balls.”

I glanced over my shoulder in time to catch the twitch at the corners of Morgan’s mouth.

Ha. Got her with that one. I filled the buckets in each side of the sink with hot water from the pot of melted snow on the wood stove. Added a dollop of soap to one, and bleach to the other.

“So, how’d that work with your dyslexia? Reading the recipes, I mean?”

“I was a natural at cooking. Madd skillz from day one.” I pivoted and pulled a couple choice dance moves, a little cabbage patch, a couple hip thrusts, because I could. And because I wanted to make her laugh.

She snorted and shook her head, and I caught the hint of another smile. He shoots, he scores.

I grinned. “And, I got my little sisters to read recipes out loud so I could memorize them.” Grabbing the sponge from behind the sink, I dropped our plates in the soapy water and scrubbed.

“Seems like becoming a chef was the right call.”

“Totally.”

I pulled each plate out of the steaming bucket, swished it through the bleach water, and the clean rinse water sitting in a third bucket on the counter, and set them in the drying rack. I wiped my dripping hands on the plaid dish towel hanging on a hook by the sink. “How ‘bout we finish cleaning and packing up the kitchen, then I’ll serve us dessert?”

“Sounds good. Thanks.” Morgan walked to the sink and grabbed a sponge.

“My pleasure.”

She turned toward me with a giggle. “I saw that dessert earlier, and I have a feeling the pleasure is going to be all mine.”

A warm glow ran through me, like when you’ve been skiing in a storm for hours, and the sun finally breaks through the clouds. I grabbed the last couple pans off the stove and sank them in the hot, soapy water.

Damn straight. I’ll make sure of it.

****

Flipping my sponge, I scrubbed at a raised stain on the last shelf, shaking my head at the image of Dan doing the cabbage patch and thrusting his hips like a bad Justin Timberlake. I’d never realized he could be so…so…silly. A guy that good-looking? I figured he took himself way too seriously to be so unselfconsciously unsexy. Which was kind of sexy.

Go figure.

Then again, I never realized he could be this nice, either. Or this helpful. Or this good company. If someone told me I’d enjoy spending a day with Dan Griffin—let alone the last day of the season—I’d have said they were sick and twisted. Maybe living in an alternate universe.

Am I really that judgmental? A twinge shot through my chest and I winced. Apparently so.

I needed to do some serious soul searching after he left tonight. When I had time and space and quiet, and wanted anything other than my career—or lack thereof—to think about. I backed out of the cupboard and rinsed my sponge in the bleach water. “That’s the last of the cabinets. I’ll start putting pots and pans away. How goes the packing?”

He folded in the flaps of a box and slid it toward the others with a hiss of cardboard on metal counter. “One more box and I’ll plate dessert. What’s left for you to do tomorrow?”

Grabbing the clipboard off its hook, I perused the list of end-of-season chores, touching my fingertip to each one that wasn’t done. “Sweep and mop. Shut down the shitter. Put out the fire and dump the ash. Restock the firewood in here. Clear the deck and paths if needed. Board up the windows. Shouldn’t take more than a couple hours.”

“What are you up to after?” He crossed the room to the coolers and pulled out a stainless mixing bowl and plastic container.

“My sister, Taya, is meeting me at the base area. We’re heading out on a weeklong road trip around the Olympic Peninsula.” Assuming my car makes it that far.

“Nice.” He set the mixing bowl next to the thick slab of the chocolate torte everyone raved about at dinner.

“What are you doing?”

“Spending a few weeks hanging with my mom and sisters in Seattle. I start a summer job cooking for a sea kayaking outfit in the San Juans June first.”

“Sounds fun.”

“That’s because I don’t do anything that isn’t fun.”

I snorted. “A great goal, but not necessarily realistic.”

“Sure it is. I make everything fun.” He crossed his eyes and lolled his tongue out the corner of his way-too-kissable mouth.

I snickered. I couldn’t help it. “That you do.”

He turned to the stove and plucked two mugs off the hooks hanging under the shelf. “Tea?”

“Chamomile. Thanks.” I stared at his lean, muscular back. At the messy blond ponytail at the nape of his neck tempting me to slip it out of that hairband and watch it slide and shimmer and pool around his shoulders.

Wait. What?

I turned to hang the clipboard and missed the hook. Twice.

“Your dessert is served.” Daniel held out a chair for me with a mix of humble pride and happiness brightening his eyes.

Cute. Daniel pulling out my chair was definitely cute.

My heart missed a beat.

Dammit. Danny-boy was not cute. He was annoying and pompous and self-centered.

And funny and thoughtful and fucking gorgeous.

I crossed the room and sat, his hands resting on the back of my chair, inches from my shoulders. My skin tingling with imagined contact when he scooted me in. I wiped my hand over my face.

I couldn’t be attracted to him. Even if we weren’t both leaving tomorrow, he wasn’t a relationship kind of guy, and I wasn’t a casual sex kind of woman. Dead end. Draw. Not that it mattered. In another hour or two he’d be gone.

Dan slid into the next chair at the table. His knee bumped mine when he scooched in, and he kept it there, the curve of his kneecap a warm crescent against my skin. The longer he left if there, the more that warmth edged up the inside of my thigh.

I angled my leg in the opposite direction and looked down at the plate between us. A flawless wedge of dark brown sat in a deep red pool of sauce. A mountain range of whipped cream traversed the top edge, with a few fresh raspberries scattered on top. It called to me in a tiny, happy voice, promising to fulfill all my deepest dark chocolate desires.

He picked up a fork. I searched for mine.

“Um…didn’t you forget something?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Nope. Pretty sure not.”

“Well, I seem to be missing a fork, and you seem to be missing a plate.”

He cut a bite off the end, swirled it in the sauce, and held it up. “I’ve got a fork for you right here, baby.” He deepened the O in fork just enough to hint at another word entirely, and his smile filled his whole face.

“Seriously?” Just when I start thinking he’s nice, he says something stupid.

“C’mon, Morgan. Open up. The airplane is coming in for a landing.” Daniel pressed his full lips together and blew sputtering motor noises, circling the fork toward my mouth.

I held in my smile, determined not to give in to his juvenile game.

“The motors are going out. We’re losing altitude with no runway in sight. Mayday. Mayday.” His hand dipped toward my breasts. “Buckle your seatbelts ladies and gentlemen, we’re in for a rough landing in the mountains.”

That did it. I laughed and stuck out my tongue. I couldn’t let such a fine piece of chocolate go to waste. My mouth closed around the fork and I’d swear an electric circuit closed instead, with a high-voltage zap straight to my core. I eased my head back and sucked the rich chocolate and syrupy sauce off the tines.

All the laughter drained from his face, and his lips parted.

“Mmmmmmnnnnnnn.” I swirled the small bite around in my mouth, savoring the contrast of bitter and sweet. Every inch of me melted along with the chocolate on my tongue.

He stared into my eyes, his look molten, intense. The hairs on the back of my neck rose.

His pupils dilated, hazel eyes going darker. He set the empty fork on the plate, his gaze never leaving my face. The tip of his tongue slid around his lips like he was savoring the exact same bite.

“What do you think?”

I swallowed hard. “I think you know how good this is, and just want your ego stroked.”

“Maybe. Maybe I want something else stroked.” He smirked, eyes crinkling at the corner in the expression I’d realized today said he was joking.

Though I’d bet he was only half-joking.

I imagined my fist wrapped around his hard cock, stroking. Putting that I’m-going-to-devour-you look back on his face. A jolt of tingling tightness shot down my chest bone to my center.

“I think you are perfectly capable of stroking that yourself.” I pulled the plate and fork over. “And you’re going to need to get your own slice. This is too delicious to share.”

“Not the sharing type, huh? Good to know.” He slid back from the table to plate another dessert.