woof.
“And we might as well have some bacon.” One of the ultimate comfort foods. It also got the dog up into a sitting position, looking as alert as Madeline figured an English bulldog could look. The little tail began thumping on the floor.
She opened the wooden bread box. “And English muffins.” The breakup of a marriage was no time to worry about calories.
She cracked the eggs, saving the shells for her grandmother’s compost bin, and washed the vegetables. As she was slicing them, which she’d done thousands of times over the years so automatically, her thoughts drifted back to New York.
Her phone battery had gone dead during the drive fromPortland to the coast. As she’d pulled up in front of the farmhouse, she’d decided that she wasn’t going to recharge it. Not yet.
But she’d have to call Pepper and let her know what was happening. Also, since she’d walked out with only her carry-on bag, she’d need to arrange to have someone to go by the apartment and pick up some clothes for her.
Which brought up a staggering fact she hadn’t even realized until now.
Before marrying Maxime, she’d had friends. True, most were involved in the food business in some way, but she’d had an active social life outside the kitchen. These past few years, all she’d done was work.
“And I wasn’t even doing the work I wanted,” she told Winnie, who cocked her head but didn’t take her eyes off the bacon Madeline moved on to slicing. “How wrong is that?”
“Sounds wrong to me, all right.” The deep voice behind her had her spinning around with the carving knife in her hand.
“Whoa!”
The man, wearing worn jeans, a denim shirt opened over a white T-shirt, and work boots, lifted both hands. One hand was holding a metal measuring tape, which went along with the tool belt worn low, gunslinger style, on his lean hips. In the other he had a metal clipboard. “Sorry if I surprised you.”
“What makes you think that sneaking up behind someone’s back—in their own kitchen—might be even the slightest bit startling?” She layered on the sarcasm as thick as the slab of country bacon she’d been slicing.
“I didn’t know anyone was here.” A yellow pencil was stuck behind his ear, drawing attention to the unruly sun-streaked hair she’d once loved to comb her fingers through. “Sofia said she was going shopping.”
“She was.” Madeline gestured toward the note on the fridge. “Is,” she corrected.
“So I figured the house was unoccupied.”
Did Lucas Chaffe have to look so damn good? Couldn’t he have gotten fat? Okay, his work as a SEAL running around in the mountains of Afghanistan—the last she’d heard from Sofia, who insisted on updating her on everyone in town, even someone she had absolutely no interest in—undoubtedly kept him fit. But couldn’t he have at least lost some of that thick hair?
“Obviously you figured wrong.”
“It appears so.…Would you mind doing me a favor?”
“What?”
“Could you put that down?” He lowered his gaze from her face to the carving knife she’d forgotten she was still holding. “I’ve seen Taliban terrorists who don’t have knives as big and sharp as that one.”
“I suspect that’s an exaggeration. Besides, I wouldn’t think a big, bad SEAL would be afraid of a simple carving knife,” she said even as she laid it on the butcher-block countertop. “What are you doing here?”
She couldn’t imagine Lucas robbing anyone, let alone her grandmother. Then again, he was certainly still outrageously handsome enough to play the movie role of a cat burglar. Though, she noticed, studying him more carefully, his face was leaner, more chiseled than it had been ten years ago. During the intervening years, he’d gone from a hot boy to a man.
Eyes, which had always reminded her of the melted chocolate in s’mores, narrowed. “Sofia didn’t tell you?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if she had.” Though she had mentioned an exciting
“And we might as well have some bacon.” One of the ultimate comfort foods. It also got the dog up into a sitting position, looking as alert as Madeline figured an English bulldog could look. The little tail began thumping on the floor.
She opened the wooden bread box. “And English muffins.” The breakup of a marriage was no time to worry about calories.
She cracked the eggs, saving the shells for her grandmother’s compost bin, and washed the vegetables. As she was slicing them, which she’d done thousands of times over the years so automatically, her thoughts drifted back to New York.
Her phone battery had gone dead during the drive fromPortland to the coast. As she’d pulled up in front of the farmhouse, she’d decided that she wasn’t going to recharge it. Not yet.
But she’d have to call Pepper and let her know what was happening. Also, since she’d walked out with only her carry-on bag, she’d need to arrange to have someone to go by the apartment and pick up some clothes for her.
Which brought up a staggering fact she hadn’t even realized until now.
Before marrying Maxime, she’d had friends. True, most were involved in the food business in some way, but she’d had an active social life outside the kitchen. These past few years, all she’d done was work.
“And I wasn’t even doing the work I wanted,” she told Winnie, who cocked her head but didn’t take her eyes off the bacon Madeline moved on to slicing. “How wrong is that?”
“Sounds wrong to me, all right.” The deep voice behind her had her spinning around with the carving knife in her hand.
“Whoa!”
The man, wearing worn jeans, a denim shirt opened over a white T-shirt, and work boots, lifted both hands. One hand was holding a metal measuring tape, which went along with the tool belt worn low, gunslinger style, on his lean hips. In the other he had a metal clipboard. “Sorry if I surprised you.”
“What makes you think that sneaking up behind someone’s back—in their own kitchen—might be even the slightest bit startling?” She layered on the sarcasm as thick as the slab of country bacon she’d been slicing.
“I didn’t know anyone was here.” A yellow pencil was stuck behind his ear, drawing attention to the unruly sun-streaked hair she’d once loved to comb her fingers through. “Sofia said she was going shopping.”
“She was.” Madeline gestured toward the note on the fridge. “Is,” she corrected.
“So I figured the house was unoccupied.”
Did Lucas Chaffe have to look so damn good? Couldn’t he have gotten fat? Okay, his work as a SEAL running around in the mountains of Afghanistan—the last she’d heard from Sofia, who insisted on updating her on everyone in town, even someone she had absolutely no interest in—undoubtedly kept him fit. But couldn’t he have at least lost some of that thick hair?
“Obviously you figured wrong.”
“It appears so.…Would you mind doing me a favor?”
“What?”
“Could you put that down?” He lowered his gaze from her face to the carving knife she’d forgotten she was still holding. “I’ve seen Taliban terrorists who don’t have knives as big and sharp as that one.”
“I suspect that’s an exaggeration. Besides, I wouldn’t think a big, bad SEAL would be afraid of a simple carving knife,” she said even as she laid it on the butcher-block countertop. “What are you doing here?”
She couldn’t imagine Lucas robbing anyone, let alone her grandmother. Then again, he was certainly still outrageously handsome enough to play the movie role of a cat burglar. Though, she noticed, studying him more carefully, his face was leaner, more chiseled than it had been ten years ago. During the intervening years, he’d gone from a hot boy to a man.
Eyes, which had always reminded her of the melted chocolate in s’mores, narrowed. “Sofia didn’t tell you?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if she had.” Though she had mentioned an exciting
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