Page 66 of Stirring Up Trouble
And then her heartbeats grew decidedly faster.
“I see an apple grove.” He drew in a breath and nodded. “Yeah. There’s this apple orchard, way out past the suburbs in Philly. Trees as far as you can see, full to bursting with Jonagolds, Braeburns, you name it. The air smells brand-new, like no one’s even breathed it before, and you can taste the sun on the apples when you bite into them.”
Sloane’s senses prickled with awareness as Gavin opened his eyes and continued. “One time, when Bree was eight, she begged for the apples from the top of the tree. She swore they must taste better, and we couldn’t convince her that all the apples were the same. So, I climbed fifteen feet up to the top of this apple tree, and the whole time I remember thinking I must be crazy for risking my neck over a handful of apples.”
“Was she right?” Sloane breathed, unable to tear her gaze from him.
Gavin’s expression softened around his upturned mouth, becoming a warm chuckle. “Hell if she wasn’t. They were the best damned apples I’ve ever had.”
“She’s lucky to have you.”
Her words stopped the laughter brewing in his throat, prompting a tight shrug. “Sometimes I’m not so sure.”
“Are you kidding?” She pulled back with surprise and stared. “I mean, I know it’s not all rainbows and unicorns and stuff, but anyone can see how much you care about her.”
He released a slow breath. “I do care about her.”
Silence unspooled between them as Gavin looked away, raising his glass with a faster-than-necessary jerk, and even though she didn’t want to, Sloane took the hint.
“I guess we should warm the food up before we eat, huh?” She put her glass on the counter and made her way back to the heart of the kitchen, reaching for the plates she’d taken out of the cupboard.
Gavin turned to fall into place next to her. “Sure. How about you plate, and I’ll man the microwave?”
“Look at you, breaking out the fancy techniques. You’re a culinary tour de force over there.” She handed him a plate loaded with chicken, capers, and artichokes, and even lukewarm from the restaurant, it smelled divine.
He took the plate, stepping close enough to fill her senses with the masculine scent of his skin and the dark, seductive smile that was like her own personal brand of Kryptonite. “I’m trying to impress you. Is it working?”
“Not even a little bit, Microwave Man. I’m not that easy.” But the traitorous tingle of heat percolating at the seam of her jeans negated every last syllable.
Well. Didn’t that just add a whole new dimension to thepants on firepart of things?
“Guess I’ll just have to try harder,” he said, bringing the microwave to life with a handful of touches. Oh, God, if she didn’t come up with a distraction, stat, he was going to find out exactly how easy she was, right here in the kitchen.
Cut it out!She’d come over here in an honest-to-God act of concern, not to get laid. So she blurted out the first thing she could think of that didn’t make her want to whip off her shirt just to feel him on her skin.
“So, um, how’d you get to be such a wine expert, anyway?”
His shoulders eased up by a fraction and he took the second plate from her. “Not the flashiest answer going, but it started in culinary school.”
A tiny smile poked at the corners of her lips, and she enjoyed another sip of Chablis before answering. “Come on. Of all the things you could’ve become an expert on, you chose wine?”
“Hey, don’t knock it,” he said, handing her the first plate with a wry smile. “Why, what would you pick?”
“Something different every day. And I’m not knocking it. I just meant there are a bazillion things you could’ve chosen. Why wine?”
“Oh. Well, I think it kind of picked me, to be honest. We studied a lot of different regional cuisines, and I always came back to the ones that centered around wine pairings—
mostly Italian and French, but of course there are others. I was fascinated by how the wine enhanced the meal and made it an experience. It didn’t take long for me to discover that wine could actuallybethe experience.”
“I never really thought of wine as its own complex thing,” Sloane admitted, turning the idea over in her mind as she walked the steaming plate to the table.
“Most people don’t. We’re conditioned to do things as quickly as possible, eating and drinking included. It’s just a means to an end. But wine is one of those things you’ve got to take your time with, otherwise you miss the point. It’s the journey, remember?”
Her face flushed at the reminder of his words from the night of Carly’s wedding, but looking away from Gavin’s piercing stare right now wasn’t even on her menu of options. “I remember.”
“Isn’t writing the same way? I mean, you don’t race through it just to get to the end, do you? You must enjoy the process part a little bit, too. Look at how hard you work on putting it together.” He pulled his plate from the microwave, crossing the kitchen to place it on the table across from hers, and Sloane’s gut twanged at the reminder of the book she shouldn’t be writing.
She was tempted to button her lip and brush the whole thing off. After all, the wine was flowing, and they were supposed to be relaxing. Talking about the fact that her writing process vaguely resembled a fricking corkscrew right now was only going to jack her stress-o-meter sky-high. She’d tried all afternoon to start an outline for her Greece book, just as she had for the last couple of weeks. For four hours straight, she’d trolled travel websites in the hopes that one of the images would serve as the spark she’d so desperately been searching for. Her pencil was sharp, her Post-its were at the ready, just begging to be scribbled upon.