Stef Ann Holm by Lucy Back (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📗

Maybe he should go down the hallway first and slip into some jeans, but his movement had been detected through the glass panels on each side of the massive front doors—because an oval face pressed closer. Neither side had a window treatment covering it.

She’d had to have seen part of him, his silhouette. No doubt.

When he started toward his bedroom, the bell rang again.

“Shit,” he repeated beneath his breath, then backtracked to the foyer.

Standing back, he opened the door.

Lucy Carpenter stood before him, grasping the blue handles of two extremely large plastic totes. They looked like suitcases, and through the murky plastic he could see utensils, spices, pots and pans, and a bunch of other cookware he was fairly clueless about.

This was her first cook date at his house. He’d hired her.

She wore a pair of jeans and a basic pink T-shirt that hugged her breasts. The shape of her face was delicately defined, with her hair pulled back in a claw to keep it off her shoulders.

There was a wholesomeness about her, a femininity that was a rare find. She liked the softer colors that emphasized her womanly curves in a tasteful way. He thought her sexy as all hell.

The shape of her mouth was pouty, her lips full and kissable. She wore very little makeup—mascara, lipstick, maybe blush. She didn’t need cosmetic help. She was beautiful to him just as she was. The ivory column of her neck was smooth, beckoning a man’s lips to trace her skin from her collarbone to the soft angle of her jaw.

She smelled good. Like flowers. Light, but softly feminine.

Her brown eyes traveled over his naked chest, then darted to his face. “I’m not early,” she blurted.

“I know.” He checked the tuck on his towel, making sure he wasn’t going to lose it. “I lost track of time. I had a phone call.”

Jacquie. And she’d be coming over soon. It had momentarily slipped his mind that Lucy was going to be here. Although looking at her, how she could slip his mind was beyond him.

She attracted him. More than he cared to admit. And deeper than just physical. He saw something in her that he’d been missing in his life. During the last few years, trying to reconcile with Mackenzie, he’d felt himself lacking in stability and self-assuredness. Lucy possessed a strong character, something he admired. She was determined, he gave her that much.

He’d been surprised to get her call, saying she wanted to cook for him and would take him up on his offer. She’d wanted to come over and give him a sampler menu, but he’d told her whatever she wanted to make was fine with him. He didn’t need a demo. She’d brought the contract, an application and a form for his menu selections to one of the Little League games, and he’d signed the papers, hiring her for the summer.

He had no clue what she was preparing tonight. His stomach rumbled with hunger, so he didn’t care what was put on his plate.

“Come on in,” he offered, stepping aside. “Can I help you with anything?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I can manage. Why don’t you…”

He was already heading to his bedroom while he pointed in the opposite direction. “The kitchen’s that way. I’ll be right back.”

Lucy was left in the foyer to examine her surroundings. She gazed at the high ceilings, the backyard and the built-in bookcases chock-full of baseball memorabilia. Gloves, baseballs, a plethora of photographs. With her kitchen gear weighing her down and Drew in the next room, she didn’t have the opportunity to look closer, but she recognized his face in many of the photos.

The handles of her travel cases began to cut into her palms, so she proceeded. Bringing all her supplies to a cook job could be an ordeal. If she’d been doing a week’s worth of meals, she would have brought four times the amount of things. Today she’d consolidated everything into two bins with handles.

Taking the hardwood hallway, she passed a dining room on her right. It was decorated in rich tones of red, gold and ivory, with a huge area rug and a black dining table. The walls were a deep crimson, and the large light fixture was made out of twigs. It was unusual, but she liked it for its uniqueness.

Right past the dining room she reached a spacious kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances. The birch cabinets were accented with white, the walls a sage-green.

She loved the tone, the feeling. The comfort.

For some reason, acknowledging that put her on guard. This was a kitchen she could get used to. Several seconds of completely unrestrained fantasy followed, and she envisioned herself here, with Drew, cooking. Together.

Oh, dear Lord. I’m in big trouble.

Lucy deposited the heavy bins on the floor, taking out pots and pans and grocery items. Since the trip to Drew’s house was short, she hadn’t brought her canvas insulated cooler for the perishable food. She arranged everything neatly on the countertop.

Pulling out his folder, she sorted through the paperwork he’d signed, refreshed herself on the menu, then remembered she hadn’t printed labels for freezer storage, since he was eating it tonight. She’d still had him pay her a $25.00 fee for the plastic containers for when she created several entrées and side dishes. In that case, she’d leave the reheating instructions on the fridge. Cooking only one meal the night of serving wasn’t customary, but she had some clients who wanted that option.

She cooked clean, didn’t like clutter or mess. Noticing the way Drew kept his kitchen, she appreciated his neatness and the feel of organization, although there was a starkness about the room, as if nobody lived here. Almost like one of those model homes where only the basic props were out.

Curious, she slid open a drawer. Silverware. Nice stuff, too. Not hearing Drew approach, she quickly peaked into a cupboard, finding shelves of dinner plates and cereal bowls. To her right, she glanced inside a cabinet. Spices. And