Isabel Sharpe - Long Slow Burn

“Terrific. Is this the best number to reach you at?”

“This is my cell, yeah.”

“Excellent. Thanks for getting back to me so fast, Nathan. This will be great to do for Kim. She’s such a sweetheart.”

He agreed with that and hung up, not sure how he felt about stealing personal items—like what?—but hearing about Kim’s life and memories was part of his plan for getting to know her better, anyway. He turned—nearly forgetting the wine—and started back toward home. Parties meant presents. This would be a great opportunity to do something really special for her. Something she’d notice and appreciate, and be touched by. Something to make her think of him in a new light.

What that could be he had no idea, but he had time.

Five minutes later he’d carried the bottles safely into the house and unloaded the reds, put the whites in the refrigerator. Kim was sitting at the Shaker-style natural-finish table, scooping balls of dough onto a baking sheet.

“Can I help with anything?”

“No, thanks, Nathan.” She smiled tightly. “I’ve got it.”

“C’mon, there must be something.” He lifted his hands to show them empty and willing, anxious to make up for his earlier bungling. “I’m no chef, but I’m not inept, either.”

She considered him. “How are you at putting snacks into bowls?”

“Expert.”

“Without eating them all?”

“Oh.” He made himself look pained. “I can try.”

“Good enough.” She smiled, pointing to a can of nuts, bags of chips and pretzels, and bowls, all on a tray on the counter.

Nathan pulled up a chair opposite and started his task, glancing at Kim once in a while. She was definitely on edge, her expression inward and thoughtful. She was too serious, too reserved. He loved goosing her into life, making her laugh. She needed someone like him around.

He poured pretzels into the last bowl. “I’m done here. What else can I help with? And don’t say you have it all covered. I’ve got time and there’s more to do.”

“Okay.” She pushed a third baking sheet toward him. “You can help make the cookies.”

“Sure.” He imitated her motions, scooping up dough with a teaspoon and pushing the blob onto a cookie sheet lined with a silicone mat. Homemade cookies in his childhood had meant store-bought slice-and-bake dough from the supermarket, so this was new to him. “You do realize what I’m sacrificing here, Kim.”

“I can guess. Making cookies isn’t manly, either?” She shot him a look. “Is anything manly that doesn’t involve drunken oblivion or getting laid?”

“Of course.” Nathan paused his cookie spooning. “Yelling obscenities at referees and umpires counts, too.”

Kim let go with a good giggle that time, the one he loved best, the one that turned her cheeks pink and softened her features. “What else?”

“Let’s see. Crushing beer cans on your head. Belches that wake the dead. More intimacy with the TV than with your girlfriend …”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a miracle marriage ever happens.”

“No, no, there are other, serious parts to the Man’s Guide that females can appreciate.”

“Like?”

“Like …” Nathan leaned toward her across the table, taking his first chance. “A Manly Man always swears to love, support and protect his woman for his whole life.”

“Huh?” Kim did not look impressed. “Support? Protect? Your woman? That sounds more like cave manly.”

Hmm. That did not go the way Nathan had envisioned. Her eyes hadn’t gotten misty, nor had infatuation lit them up. She hadn’t sighed and said, Oh, Nathan, that is so romantic .

The seduction of Kim Charlotte Horton would take trial and error. Growing up with four older brothers and a chauvinist father hadn’t prepared Nathan for approaching a smart, independent woman like her. He wouldn’t give up, though. Hell, he’d just started trying.

She took her sheet to the oven, opened the door and put the cookies in. He didn’t mean to pay close attention when she bent over, but while he respected the very ground she walked on, to deny himself the pleasure of that sight would be pure masochism.

Why had this woman hit him so hard and never let go? First time he’d seen her he’d been following Kent into his house their freshman year in high school, Kim’s senior. Their family had just moved to Milwaukee from somewhere in Ohio. She’d been standing framed by the doorway between the living room and dining room, arguing with her mother, her face flushed, her eyes snapping blue heat. Nathan, all of fifteen, had literally stopped in his tracks. She wasn’t the kind of woman whose beauty struck you right off the bat, but something had sure struck him like a boulder between the eyes. Kent finally had to yank on his arm to get him to move. That’s how it had been right from the beginning. And the years hadn’t changed those feelings, or replicated them, no matter how many other women Nathan had tried to find them with. Now his goal was to figure out this crazy fantasy or turn it into reality.

She came back to the table, pulled the next baking sheet toward her and settled into her seat with a defeated plop. Something was definitely not right. His instinct was to tell her more jokes, but his instinct when it came to Kim was usually wrong. Maybe his best bet going forward would be to do the opposite of whatever came naturally.

He cleared his throat, feeling as if he were about to audition for a part he wasn’t right for. “How was your day? Did you get a lot done on the Carter proposal?”

“Another dead end.” She made a silly face, trying to hide her disappointment. “I like some things about the current design. It’s balanced, good colors, chic feel, but it just doesn’t pop.”

He wished he could come up with the perfect solution to take the frown off her face. He’d offer to look, but had already learned she was intensely private about her work in progress. “It’s a solid start, though?”

“Yeah, I guess.” She looked miserably down at the perfect mounds of cookie dough on her baking sheet.

Was that all that was bothering her? “Something will come to you. You’re very talented.”

“Thanks, Nathan.” A real smile then. “It’s just nerve-racking with the deadline looming, both for the bid and for Charlotte’s Web. What about your day?”

“My day.” He rubbed the back of his neck, wishing he hadn’t had that fifth drink at 3:00 a.m. “It started late last night, ended early this morning. In between was some very good tequila and some very bad judgment.”

She laughed. “Sounds like a typical night.”

That was the problem. To her that did seem typical. She didn’t understand that this self-destructive part of him wasn’t all there was. He was trapped right now in a cycle he didn’t understand how to get out of. Yet. Though he knew he would. In the meantime there was more of him to show her: that he was a good listener, a loyal friend and that he cared about her more than she knew. Probably more than was rational or reasonable.

The timer went off and she jumped to extract the first sheet of perfectly browned cookies. He lifted his nose like a puppy. “Mmm, those smell good.”

“Don’t they?” Kim sniffed rapturously. “Mom’s sugar oatmeal. Plain, but wonderful.”

She stood there, sparking uncharacteristically edgy energy. Nathan’s instinct was to go with the cookie conversation. Therefore he’d do the opposite. “Something’s up besides the website issues. Want to tell me?”

She stared down at the hot baking sheet, looking serious and shy and even more delicious than the cookies. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure.” He found himself gripping the spoon hard enough to bend it. “But something is different about you the past few days.”