Macallister pounded down the stairs, stopping mid-flight to grip the sloping ceiling, showing off the flex of his arms.
“Whoa,” he said, looking around.
She swiped her brow and followed Macallister’s gaze to the room. The counters and island gleamed, the machines sat neatly in a row, and rinsed glassware sparkled on crisp paper towels.
She said, “I like a clean workplace.”
“No kidding.” He dropped his arms to his hips. “You planning to eat sometime today?”
“Eventually.” She turned back to a sink full of suds, away from that strange pulsing aura of his. “I’ll manage something later.”
“Something more substantial than M&Ms?”
She glanced at the bag of candy she’d opened a while ago, now spilled in a colorful pool on the island. “I’ll eat real food later.”
“It already is later, Red. Past eight o’clock.”
Jenny glanced toward the single basement window. Rays of dusky gray light poured through the outside grime. She must have been working for hours.
“I’ll order in,” she said. “Know a good pizza place?”
Logan rumbled a laugh that dragged her attention back to him. Bits of chaff clung to the thighs of his jeans. Dirt streaked his once-white T-shirt. His hair looked like he’d spent the afternoon tracking his fingers through it.
“City girl.” He gestured to the woods that could be seen at the edge of the yard. “You’re in the wilds now, Jenny. There isn’t a pizza joint or a Chinese take-out within twenty miles.”
“Oh.”
“All the grocery stores are closed, too, though you could probably get some Twinkies from the gas station ten miles away.”
“Is there a point to this conversation, Macallister?”
“I’m cooking up rice and beef.” He planted his elbows on the banister. “Should be ready in ten minutes.”
A deliciously spicy odor floated down the stairs and coaxed a growl from her stomach. “Is that an invitation to dinner?”
“Yeah.”
That was it. No explanation, no conditions, no flirtation, no compromise. “So much for staying out of each other’s way.”
“Don’t get excited, Red. I’m not asking you on a date.”
The words pinched. What the hell? It wasn’t like she wanted to go on a date.
“Look.” He pushed up from the banister. “We’ve got some things to talk about. House rules. And you’ve got to eat. I’ve made enough dinner for two. Are you coming?”
She was hungry—really, she was starved. If she didn’t eat now, she’d be famished later, and would have to ask him if she could eat what was in the fridge or try to satisfy herself with the granola bar going stale at the bottom of her purse.
“Thank you.” She snapped off a cleaning glove. “I’ll be right up.”
A few minutes later, she ascended the stairs to the sound of meat sizzling. Steam hissed into the air under the hood of the stove, billowing around Logan, who was planted in front of a cast iron pan, wielding a wooden spoon, his jeans sagging low on his hips.
“Sit down,” he said, without turning. “This is ready to go.”
She’d expected paper plates, plastic utensils, and greasy paper napkins. Certainly not the tender strips of sirloin and crispy vegetables he spooned directly from the frying pan onto the bed of white rice molded upon mismatched plates. Hunger yawned. She hadn’t eaten anything all day save a cup of coffee, a Danish, and the peanut M&Ms she’d left downstairs. Choosing a fork over chopsticks for expediency’s sake, she speared a piece of the sirloin and let the spiciness explode in her mouth.
“Oh my God,” she said around a mouthful, “this is amazing.”
“Glad you like it.”
He swung a leg over the back of a chair and sat. The table was small, the distance between them made smaller as he leaned over his food. She plastered her spine against the back of the chair away from that red-wave aura, a forkful halfway to her mouth.
“This is the way I see it,” he said, stirring the beef into the rice with a pair of chopsticks. “Breakfast and lunch, we’re on our own. On weekdays, we can cook dinner on alternate nights. Forget about the weekends. I might not be around.”
I might not be around. She blinked at the idea that Logan might have a girlfriend. Of course he had a girlfriend, one who loved his rough and unshaven look, one who feathered her fingers through the long, dark hair curling at his neck. She heard the splatter of something drop, and realized it was a piece of meat falling off her fork.
“It makes more sense to share dinner,” he continued. “Otherwise we’d have to buy separate food and divide up the refrigerator.” He eyed her half-empty plate. “You’re no vegetarian.”
“No.”
“That settles that.”
She speared a piece of water chestnut. “It doesn’t settle anything at all.”
He gave off waves of restless, roiling energy as he planted his elbows flat on the table.
“I keep odd hours,” she said. “I’ll be out most of the day, and working most of the night.” She brought her fork to her lips but tasted nothing.
“You still have to eat.”
She shrugged and swallowed. “I’ll throw something together.”
“Candy and soda? For two weeks?”
“My health isn’t your concern, Macallister.”
“And I’m trying to be an adult,
