She wanted to make an excuse about needing to change her top or something since she’d been cooking. Just so she didn’t have to sit and eat with him. And stare at his weirdly sexy mouth motions. But that felt self-conscious. If she ran off before he was done, she would look like she was doing it because she was uncomfortable around him—which she was.
Oh, to hell with pride.
She stood up. “I’ll be right back. I have to... I got flour on my top and I’m gonna...change.”
She turned and scurried out of the kitchen, moving to the back room, where she’d just gotten all of her things organized last night.
It was part of an addition made to the house in more recent years. By which she meant the 1940s or so. The room was skinny and rectangular, set slightly lower than the rest of the house, matching the incline of the property, with windows covering the entire back wall and a slanted, wooden ceiling that had been painted white at some point.
It was weird, and quirky, and she was sure guests wouldn’t like it very much. But it suited her just fine.
She opened the top drawer of her dresser and retrieved a new top. She tugged it over her head quickly, then hovered by the vanity, wondering if she should put makeup on. No, she shouldn’t put makeup on. That was stupid. It was why she hadn’t applied any after her shower this morning. They were just going out on the ranch, after all. And putting makeup on implied she cared about how she looked. And she totally didn’t. At all.
While she was thinking, she picked up a blush brush and dashed it through the pink powder before swirling it over the apples of her cheeks. There. She looked awake now anyway.
She frowned and picked up her tube of mascara, brushing some over her lashes quickly. There. In the interest of looking awake.
She slicked some pink gloss over her lips next. That wasn’t vain. That was just...upkeep.
She grabbed a rubber band from the little porcelain hand statue on top of the bright yellow vanity and restrained her hair as best she could.
Okay. So that was done. And not to impress Eli but just because...it was basic hygiene. Right. She didn’t care what he thought. At all.
She walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen again, waiting to see the look on his face when he registered the change to her appearance. And...nothing. He just sat there drinking his coffee. She’d put makeup on and nothing.
Which was fine, because she didn’t care. But...she’d expected a little better than that. From the guy who’d hate-kissed her once.
Okay, nothing about Eli and her attraction to him, her preoccupation with him, made sense. So maybe she should just stop trying to excuse the weird things she seemed to do in his presence.
She tried, for a second, to figure out what she would say to a patient in this situation, and couldn’t find any readily available wisdom. Because when it came to attraction, her philosophy was simple. Pursue it and, if there was no returned interest, release it. If there was, continue on with it until it was no longer mutually satisfying.
But there was nothing about that philosophy that applied to this situation.
She didn’t like him. She didn’t want to be attracted to him. And he clearly didn’t want to be attracted to her. If he even was.
Well, she knew he was, because boner.
But was that actual attraction or just some testosterone-fueled rage thing? And if it was, then why did the idea make her feel hot and twitchy and not angry?
Nothing about this man, or her response to him, made sense.
“So, what’s the plan, then?” she asked, leaning against the door frame and staring down at him, where he had made himself very at home in one of her kitchen chairs.
“I’m going to show you around. We’re going to talk about your ideas, and I’m going to tell you which parts of those ideas are absolutely impossible.”
“Or, to make it not sound dire and negative...you’re going to tell me what will work?”
“Honestly, I have a feeling we’ll be talking a lot more about what won’t work.”
“You are a ray of freaking sunshine, Eli. Has anyone ever told you that before?”
He looked over his mug and arched a dark brow. “No.”
“Well, that’s just shocking.”
“You don’t sound shocked.”
She smiled. “That’s because I’m not.”
She reclaimed her coffee cup, but didn’t rejoin him at the table. She hovered back, taking her caffeine hit before putting the mug back on the table. “Did you want to run this to your house or car or...?”
“I’ll pick it up later.” He tilted his cup back and finished his coffee in one deep drink before setting it back down and pushing himself into a standing position.
“Great. Then let’s go tour.” She turned and walked back out into the entryway and out the door, pausing just outside. “We’re not taking the patrol car?”
“No,” he said, walking past her. “I drive the truck around the ranch. And around town. I only drive the patrol car when I’m on duty. And today, I’m playing the part of cowboy, not the part of lawman.”
Both of those things sounded so much hotter than they had a right to.
“Well, yee-haw,” she said, following him over to the truck. It wasn’t a new truck. It was one of those big, growly monsters with big tires and metal runners to assist in getting inside. It was square and boxy, a dull, faded red with mud splatter fanning out around the tires.
She pushed the button on the door handle and tugged it hard, before heaving herself up and onto the bench seat. There was a blanket over the original upholstery, and it made her wonder just what sort of things the man got up to in here.
She could certainly think of a few things that might be fun...
She was really starting to get concerned for her sanity. The mistake, she feared, was that she hadn’t had a lover in...a while. Like, since pre-California, which put her at two years of celibacy and that was crazy.
She hadn’t really accounted for needing sex when she’d moved to Copper Ridge, but she most certainly did, and the size of the town was going to make everything much more complicated.
