Desperately Seeking Epic(70)

“Um, yeah. Since you’re grieving and all. Thought you might like a meal.”

He stepped back and to the side, inviting me to enter. Knock and run had turned into knock and see, and now it was knock and visit. I failed. I stepped inside, and if I thought the outside of the house was plain, the inside was no exception. It was an open floor plan, the living room and kitchen all one room. He had a love seat and a small table closest to the kitchen, which could only seat two people. No television. No pictures or décor. He did, however, have a bike hanging from the ceiling, and a snowboard, skis, and skateboard that lined the wall.

Shutting the door behind me, he asked, “What is it?”

“Oh,” I replied nervously. I realized I was just staring at his house. “Nothing. It’s weird to see your house is all.” Ugh. Why did I say that?

He smirked, his dimples poking out. Stupid dimples. “Must be weird to see a house that isn’t in shambles,” he mocked.

I glared at him jokingly. “You’re just jealous of how much character my house has. Yours . . . is clearly lacking.”

“You’re right,” he played along. “I’m so jealous of a porch anyone over a hundred and ten pounds will crash through.”

“See?” I jested. “I knew it. Besides, the porch is sturdier now, remember?”

We both snickered. “Well, when I asked what it was I meant the dish in your hands. What is it?”

“Chicken and broccoli casserole.”

He walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a Coke. I noticed several Country Crock containers on the shelves in his fridge and smiled to myself. He must have visited his mother recently. As he bent down, the muscles in his back seemed to ripple, demanding I stare at them. “You want one?” he offered, holding a can for me to see.

“Sure.”

He grabbed another can and set them on the table. Then he grabbed two plates, a serving spoon, and two forks. After he set them down, he stopped and looked at me as if he were waiting for something.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, why?” I inquired.

“You haven’t moved from that spot since you came inside and you’re standing there holding that casserole like it’s a newborn baby.”

I shook my head as my cheeks flamed before I moved to meet him at the table. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

He took the dish, placing it in the center of the table, before peeling the foil back. His eyelids flexed slightly, but he quickly caught himself. “It looks good,” he said. What a liar. It looked nowhere near good. My cheeks further heated with embarrassment. I knew it looked less than appetizing, but he was being nice. “Let’s have lunch.” It was close to five in the evening, but I didn’t bother to point that out to him. We sat and he served us. I watched him as he took his first bite. His chewing started fast, but slowed. At one point he looked like he was a horse chewing straw. As he continued, he worked hard to school his expression. When he finally managed to swallow, the muscles in his neck and jaw flexed dramatically. It looked as if he was choking down a wad of cotton. His gaze met mine, his eyes filled with sincerity.

“It’s really good, Clara,” he lied before he popped open his soda can and took a long swig. Again.

I bit back my laugh. “I think I finally found something you’re bad at, Paul.”

“What’s that?” he asked, bewildered as he poked at his plate.

“Lying. You suck at it.”

He laughed, leaning back in his seat and scratching his stomach. “I’m not lying,” he continued to fib. God. Those dimples. They were seriously killing me. Here I was, embarrassed as hell because I’d made a shitty casserole, and I couldn’t help smiling because of his two stupid dimples. Tilting forward, he placed his forearms on the table and scooped his fork in for more.

“Paul,” I said his name slowly, causing him to look up. “Stop.”

“Stop?” he asked, his tone indicating he was perplexed.

“Stop eating it. It’s awful. I’m sorry.” I stood and grabbed both plates from the table and dumped the casserole in the trash.

“Why’d you do that?” he questioned as he stood.

“I have no idea why I cooked. I suck at it. I just wanted to do something nice for you.” Shaking my head, I sighed. “I’m going to go now.”

“You sure?” he asked, frowning slightly. He seemed disappointed. “I have some other food my mother sent me home with yesterday.”

“Yeah, I’ve got some stuff to do.” Raising my gaze to meet his, I offered, “I’m sorry. About Sap. He was a colorful man.”

Paul smirked. “Yeah. He was.”

I walked to his front door and opened it, painfully aware he was behind me every step of the way. What a waste of time this was. What possessed me to bring him food? He must have thought I was the saddest woman he’d ever met. Not only couldn’t I make a simple casserole, but there was also the issue of the pity kiss. How pathetic. I stepped out onto his porch, ready to dart for my car and hightail it out of there, but stopped. Now was not to the time to confront him about the kiss. But I needed to. Or somehow I needed to redeem myself. But how?

Spinning around, I gazed at his dark stare and bit my lip.

“You okay?” he asked.