Heather rolled her eyes, even as she felt an odd little stab of happiness at the thought that they’d be making banana bread together in the near future. She didn’t actually like banana bread, but she was pretty sure she was starting to like her neighbor. A lot.
Not in the romantic sense. She wasn’t quite crazy enough to get involved with a man who had heartbreaker scrawled across his six-pack. But she couldn’t deny that the guy was growing on her. Big-time. Nor could she deny that she was attracted. Big-time.
They unpacked the groceries, and Heather pulled up the coffee cake recipe on her iPad. Wow. Wow. Had it always been this complicated? So many ingredients. So many steps.
So little time.
Josh shoved his hands in his pockets, wandering around her apartment. “Table looks nice.”
The table did look nice, thanks to him giving her time to fuss with it. Heather had taken a speed shower, leaving her hair to air-dry as she’d carefully arranged the freshly cut flowers she’d picked up on her way home yesterday and made homemade napkin rings of sorts out of gorgeous silver ribbon left over from one of her summer weddings.
She didn’t have fancy china, but her plain white plates contrasted nicely with the pink place mats, and she’d completed the look with silver glittery candles that were maybe just a touch fancy for a daytime brunch but gave her otherwise pedestrian apartment a flare of formal.
“Yeah, well, that’s the easy part,” Heather said as she dashed around the kitchen, gathering the necessary supplies. The metal bowl balanced on top of a million other things crashed to the ground, followed by the bag of flour, the wooden spatula, and a box of salt, which thankfully wasn’t open and thus didn’t spill everywhere.
Heather set the stuff aside, bending down to clean up at the same moment Josh did.
They both reached for the bowl, and she glanced up when he didn’t let go when she tugged. He was searching her face. “4C, exactly how bad are you in the kitchen?”
She bit her lip. “Um, I make a mean chocolate chip cookie?”
He gave a little sigh as he stood, extending a hand down to her. “Somehow I knew you were going to say something like that. All right, 4C, let’s do this.”
She frowned. “Do what?”
Josh pulled out two cutting boards and placed one in front of her. “You’re on fruit salad.”
“Not a manly enough dish for you to concern yourself with?” she asked.
“Absolutely not. I don’t suppose you’re planning on serving steak? Just a big, juicy hunk of beef?”
“Big, huh? Compensating for something, Tanner?”
“Sorry, if you wanted to see the goods, you should have done so earlier this morning before I put my pants on.”
Heather rolled her eyes. “I’m confident it won’t be the last time you prance around in your boxers. And no steak. But seriously, you don’t have to help me.”
“Shut up, 4C. You’ve pissed me off enough in the past week. Okay, let’s talk egg prep. You skilled enough to do omelets, or you want me to just prep it all so that you can put it into one big scramble when they get here?”
“Scramble, I guess,” she said, unable to keep the glum out of her voice. “Not as fancy as I was hoping, but I’ve never made an omelet before, and I’m not sure cooking for five guests is the time to start.”
“Tell me about these people you’re so determined to impress,” he said, cracking an egg into a mixing bowl with surprising aptitude for a man who had his mother make him pancakes.
“The women are my colleagues,” Heather said, flipping open the carton of strawberries and beginning to wash and slice them. “The rest of the Belles and our receptionist.”
“The Belles?”
“The Wedding Belles,” she explained. “That’s the name of our wedding-planning company.”
“And these belles,” he said as he dug around in her drawer for a whisk. “They’re the fussy quiche types?”
“For the record, quiche is delicious,” Heather said, pointing her knife at him. “And no, they’re not fussy. Not really. Brooke is sort of bubbly and sweet, Jessie’s a little firecracker and probably the most outgoing person you’ll ever meet. And Alexis is . . .”