Bachelor at Her Bidding (Bachelor Auction Book 2)(9)

“Thanks. I have to admit I only wear this for show. The skullcap’s easier and it doesn’t get in the way.” He removed the hat to reveal short dark hair that was slightly curly.

Her fingertips itched to touch his hair, to find out if it was as silky as it looked – and how stupid was that? This wasn’t a proper date, and she wasn’t going to embarrass herself by making a move on Ryan Henderson. One that he would most definitely rebuff. Hadn’t Nick already made it clear that she wasn’t enough for a real man? How pathetic was she to even think about acting on her attraction to Ryan? She coughed to cover her confusion. “I’ll show you to the kitchen. I’m afraid my apartment’s a bit on the small side.”

“In Paris, it’d be considered huge,” he said. “The rooms there were seriously tiny by American standards.”

Safe ground, to her relief. If she could get him to talk about Paris, then they wouldn’t touch on anything personal. Which suited her just fine. “I’ve never been to Europe. It must have been amazing, studying in France.”

He nodded. “I love Paris. They call it the City of Light – and that’s what it is, all wide boulevards and bridges and white stone buildings and wrought iron balconies. The architecture’s beautiful.”

She could see the wistfulness in his dark, dark eyes. It sounded as if he’d go back in a heartbeat; but she knew instinctively that it wouldn’t be tactful to ask.

“How’s your grandmother doing?” she asked instead, taking a vase from the cupboard under the sink.

“Fine.” It was the kind of clipped one-word answer that could shut down a conversation, making it very obvious that he didn’t want to talk about his grandmother. Or, given that Phyllis was sick, maybe it was Rachel’s job getting in the way. “I was asking as one of her former pupils, not as a doctor,” she said softly.

“Yeah.” He blew out a breath. “Sorry. Sharla Dickinson’s sitting with her this evening.”

“That’s kind of her.” Rachel had always liked the high school principal, who’d encouraged her to apply to college and study to be a doctor. “It’ll probably be nice for Phyllis to talk about the old days.”

“Because she’ll remember them a lot better than she remembers the present?”

She noticed the slight edge to his voice; no doubt he’d heard more than enough advice about dementia since he’d been looking after his grandmother, and no matter how well-meaning the advice was she knew it could grate when people told you what to do all the time. She’d had enough of that herself, in the run-up to her divorce. “No, I mean the same as when I meet up with the people I went to college with. We talk about our time as students. It’s fun to reminisce a bit.”

He grimaced. “Sorry – again. I’m a little touchy where my grandmother’s concerned.”

“That’s totally understandable. And that wasn’t intended to be patronizing.” Oh, help. This was meant to be a birthday dinner, and suddenly it was turning into a minefield and she didn’t have a clue what to say. She concentrated on putting the flowers in water, hoping that Ryan’s dark mood would settle down.

Weren’t all the best chefs meant to be super-moody? But it sure as hell didn’t make them easy company.

“I’d better get this food sorted,” he said.

To get the meal over and done with, as quickly as he could? That worked for her, too. Right at that moment, she really wished he’d agreed to her original suggestion of extending the “date” to her sister and her friends as well. “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked, more to be polite and make conversation than actually meaning it. Cooking wasn’t her thing.

“The idea was for you to put your feet up and be spoiled.” He gave her a thoughtful look. “Unless you want to cook with me?”

She backtracked swiftly. “Thank you for the offer, but I probably ought to admit that I’m not the world’s best cook.”

“So you’d rather not be my sous-chef, then.” But, to her relief, he was smiling again and seemed to be starting to relax with her. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Though I’m a scientist, so I quite like to know how things work. Is it OK if I watch you cook?” she asked.

“Sure. I’m not one of these chefs who believe in jealously guarding their kitchens. Especially when it’s your kitchen, not mine.” He paused. “I probably should’ve checked the menu with you first, but you did say you didn’t have any food allergies or major dislikes.”

“I’m sure whatever you plan will be more than fine,” she said. “Since the auction, half the town’s been at pains to tell me how awesome your food is.”

Lily Taylor had said at the auction that Ryan’s food was better than sex.

And thinking about sex was a bad idea. Not here, not now, and most definitely not when Ryan Henderson was standing right in front of her, looking good enough to devour.

Thankfully oblivious to the crazy whirl of thoughts in her head, he said, “I’m cooking crab cakes with arugula and mayonnaise, griddled lamb with rosemary potatoes and buttered spinach, then a trio of desserts.”

Which all sounded wonderful. “What’s a trio of desserts?” she asked.