In Over Her Head: An Anchor Island Novel by Terri Osburn (reading eggs books .TXT) 📗

of the boat and onto the dock as if it weighed no more than a sack of flour. “Got some good-sized mahi, along with both blackfin and yellowfin.” Another bucket came over the side. “And plenty of flounder.”

Lauren stepped closer to the second bucket. “Fresh flounder?”

“Yes, ma’am. Nothing better.”

Like a kid in a candy store, she examined the offerings with her nose nearly in the buckets. “You can supply these on a regular basis?” she asked.

“Year-round,” Wyatt replied. “We take Sundays and Mondays off, but we hit the water the rest of the week.”

“This is amazing,” she said to Nick. “I could make countless dishes with these.”

“We’re only making one this morning.” He joined her to examine the flounder. Drawing one out, he said, “We’ll take this and you can send the regular amount over to Dempsey’s.”

“Consider it done. And you can have that one on the house,” Wyatt added. “An introductory offer for the new chef.”

The fish was bagged in ice and after a brief goodbye, they headed back to Nick’s place. Lauren appeared more awake and walked into the house without hobbling, revealing a quick recovery from the day before. Nick tossed the packaged fish onto the counter and opened the pantry to gather what he needed. Turning, he found Lauren sitting at the kitchen table.

“What are you doing?” he asked, setting the salt, paprika, and black pepper on the counter.

“I assume you’re making breakfast so I’m staying out of your way.”

“We are making breakfast. Flounder and eggs to be exact.” He pulled an apron from a drawer and tossed it her way. “Suit up.”

Lauren leaned back in her chair. “You expect me to cook with you in that tiny kitchen?”

Though small, he’d long ago created a setup that was more than adequate for anything he wanted to make. The lack of space just meant they might bump into each other now and then, and he had no problem with that.

Nick pressed his hands to the island counter. “Are you insulting the size of my kitchen?”

Her attempt to hold in the laughter failed but she recovered quickly. “You have to admit. There isn’t much room in there.”

Holding her gaze, he said, “What’s the matter, Riley. You too intimidated to cook with me?”

Blue eyes narrowed and he knew he’d pushed the right button. Rising from the table and putting on the apron, she said, “Where are the knives?”

“Top right drawer.” He retrieved the remaining ingredients from the fridge and placed the scallions, parsley, and capers next to the butcher block. “You chop while I clean the fish.”

As if out of habit, she said, “Yes, Chef.”

She opened the drawer and Nick reached around her for the tools he needed. Leaning close to her ear, he said, “We’re just two people making breakfast, Lauren. Call me Nick.”

Her body pressed back against his. “I can do that.”

The temptation to delay the meal for other activities was hard to resist, but after his talk with Nota, Nick had decided to take this slow. Years of meaningless encounters had left him wanting more. Whether Lauren was the woman for him was yet to be seen, but he didn’t just desire her. He liked her. The confidence. The ambition. The vulnerability she fought so hard to hide. Accepting that she’d needed help with the staff had not come easy for her, but she’d come to his door, which said she was starting to trust him.

A development she likely didn’t even realize, and he wasn’t about to point out. Not yet.

Nick stepped away, ignoring the demands from his body to do otherwise. “I’ve got a cleaning station outside. If you need anything while I’m out there, feel free to search around.”

“Um…okay.” She picked a knife and reached for the scallions. “I’ll be fine.”

Fish in hand, he retreated through the sliding glass door, grateful for the cool breeze coming off the water. Lucky for him, cleaning a fish was the unsexiest thing Nick could think of, and by the time he returned inside, the urge to strip Lauren out of her hoodie was gone.

Mostly.

“This was better than I expected,” she said, eating the last bite of fish before shoving her plate away.

Nick’s mixed signals had kept Lauren in a state of confusion throughout the cooking. One minute he’d be reaching around her, their bodies making contact that lit tiny fires in her bloodstream whenever they touched. The next he’d dance away, acting as if nothing had happened. Lucky for him, the meal had been worth the frustration.

Lauren still felt like a live wire, but at least she’d been satisfied in one way.

“So what’s the plan for today?” Nick asked, dropping his napkin atop his empty plate.

“On the trip back from Nag’s Head, I let everyone know to come in at nine.” She checked the clock above his pantry door to see she had just over an hour. “We’ll begin working on the dishes I’d like to put on the menu.”

Crossing his arms on the table, he asked, “What have you come up with?”

She reached for her phone and pulled up her Notes app. “This is what I’m shooting for.”

Dark brows arched high. “That was easier than I expected.”

“What was easier?”

“You showing me your menu. I thought you might say it was none of my business.”

She would have at the start of the week, and that smirk on his face said he knew it. “Unless you plan to add pistachio crusted pork loin, a noodle bowl, or roasted vegetables with Pappardell to the Dempsey’s menu, I think I’m safe.”

Nick perused her list in silence. While making breakfast, he’d cooked with precision, skill, and efficiency, proving that he was much more than a bar food cook. The fish had been perfectly cleaned, and he’d tossed in the seasonings by eye, tasting as he went. He’d let her taste as well and listened when she shared her opinion.

A rare occurrence in her experience.

Lauren hovered on the edge of her seat, not entirely comfortable with how much she wanted