Why Not Tonight (Happily Inc. #3)(8)
Which was way too dramatic, he thought as he set out a casserole left by his housekeeping service. It would serve two and looked like something Natalie might like.
He read the label with a list of ingredients and the heating instructions. There was chicken. She ate meat, didn’t she? He was pretty sure he’d seen her devour a hamburger more than once and she’d had no problem with the soup earlier. She’d been at the gallery at least a couple of years. He should know more about her aside from the fact that he thought she was attractive and maybe a little sexy. And he sure as hell shouldn’t be worried about talking to her. Dear God, what was wrong with him? He’d always been the smooth twin when it came to women. He’d been the one to approach the girls in high school, the popular one as he and Mathias had gotten older. But it, like so many things, had been lost. He wasn’t sure when that had happened—he hadn’t been paying attention—but that confidence was gone now.
He turned on one of the two ovens, then returned to the refrigerator and pulled out fixings for salad. Not that he ever ate salad, but the service left the vegetables every week. Women liked salads, didn’t they? Women...
His brain flipped over as he realized Natalie had lost her car, was stuck in his house and he’d basically left her to do laundry on her own. He hadn’t asked if she was okay or sat with her or anything. He’d walked out like some brooding gothic figure.
He swore. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t dealing with an alien species. He wasn’t some thirtysomething virgin alone with his first woman. He had to get a grip, or at least fake it better.
Natalie breezed into the kitchen. She had changed back into her dress.
“Doing okay?” he asked, wondering if she’d bothered to look around when she’d been alone in the house. It wouldn’t matter if she had—it wasn’t as if he had secrets. At least, not the kind he kept in drawers. There wasn’t even a dirty magazine for her to find.
“Much better. Not that I don’t appreciate you lending me clothes.” She wrinkled her nose. “Which I’m going to need to continue to borrow while I’m here. I was going to say I should keep a packed bag in my trunk, but that wouldn’t have helped, either.” She held up a hand. “Please don’t apologize about my car again. It’s really a lucky break.”
Something he didn’t understand, but was going to have to believe, based on how many times she’d said it. He supposed the real problem was that he’d been so successful for so long he’d forgotten what it was like to have to save up for something like a car.
He wondered if it would be okay for him to offer to replace hers, then realized that was not a topic they should get into while she was stranded in his house. He might not know how to talk to a woman anymore, but he knew better than to say something that might be considered upsetting. And “Hey, let me buy you a car” fell firmly into the scary, weird-guy category.
“I like your hair,” he said instead, thinking everyone enjoyed a compliment.
She groaned. “The curls? Really? I hate them. Hate.” She squeezed several in her hand. “They were torturous when I was growing up. What is it about boys in elementary school and a girl with curls? I was teased constantly.”
“You were different and they thought you were pretty.”
“Oh, please.” She sat at the stool by the counter. “I was not pretty when I was little.”
“Why would you say that? You’re pretty now. There’s no reason to think that’s changed.” He raised his brows. “Trust me. When a boy in elementary school teases you like that, it’s because you’ve flustered him.”
“I honestly don’t know what to say,” she admitted.
“There’s a first.”
Natalie laughed. “Are you saying I talk a lot?”
“Yes, but it’s nice background noise.”
She looked around. “Hmm, nothing safe to throw. Someone as annoying as you should keep decorative pillows around. Background noise? You didn’t actually say that.”
“It seems I did, and what I meant was when I’m working and you’re talking to Mathias or Nick, your conversation makes it easier to work.”
“Oh. Well, that’s different. I like that I make it easier for you to work. I didn’t know what you thought of me.” She looked at him quizzically. “Is this the softer side of Ronan Mitchell? The secret man at home?”
He realized he wasn’t as uncomfortable as he had been, which was a relief. He would hate to think he’d totally lost who he’d once been. To be honest, he was enjoying the teasing.
“I have depths.”
“I’ll bet.” She slid off the stool. “What’s for dinner?”
“A chicken casserole left by the service. I have ingredients for salad.”
“No, thanks. I’m not really a big fan of lettuce. Dressing I love, but I try to avoid it except on special occasions.” She walked over to the refrigerator, pulled open the door and peered inside. “Yay, look!” She held up a tube. “Fresh baked biscuits. Okay, not exactly homemade, but close enough and very delicious.” She glanced at the stove. “You even have two ovens, so I can bake these at the same time. It’s a sign.”
“Obviously.”
He got out a cookie sheet for her, then went to the far side of the island to watch her work. Not counting the housekeeping service, she was the first woman he’d had in this house. More proof that he was pathetic, but still true.