Page 39 of Lessons in Lemonade

He shakes his head. “Water’s fine. Thank you.”

“Of course! Okay, you hang tight. I’ll be right back.”

Spinning, I quickly walk back into the kitchen with my heels clicking on the floor and my heart hammering in my chest. Why is it acting so crazy? Gah, it’s just Jack.

Following behind, Taylor slides up next to me as I grab a bowl and begin to fill it. “So, that’s Jack?” She eyes me knowingly.

“You know it is. You knew before you told me.”

She shrugs while slicing a piece of cornbread and placing it on a small plate. “Maybe. I thought you said y’all were just friends?”

“We are just friends—why?” I look over at her.

She matches my gaze, not backing down. “Sure doesn’t look like it.”

“How does it look?” My eyes narrow at her.

“Like it’s more . . . so much more,” she says dreamily.

With that, she spins around and leaves me standing in the kitchen, holding his soup with my mouth hanging open, dumbfounded.

Southern Seafood Gumbo

THE RELIEF I felt when my eyes landed on her was so visceral my entire body jolted. It’s like for the last month I’ve been holding my breath, and only now can I finally exhale. I don’t know why; the reality is we haven’t been friends for very long, but seeing her walk out of the kitchen in her wild high heels and with her curly hair all piled up on top of her head and sticking out, I instantly knew with every fiber in me that it was the right decision to come here.

And don’t get me started on her food.

Within ten minutes of her sitting me down at the table, it was covered with the best gumbo I’ve ever had, cornbread, fried green tomatoes, an order of shrimp and cheddar grits, and little cookies to top it off. I know she has a team of people working back there, but damn, all of this is technically hers, and I’m in awe. Of course, I told her it was all too much, but she just stated that her restaurant was as good as her house, and as the host, it was her job to feed me. Who am I to argue?

Once lunch was finished, she wrapped up what she was working on and beamed at the idea of driving my truck, so I let her take us back to her home. I wasn’t sure what to expect there either, but as she parked on the curb in front of a little light yellow row house looking all bright and sunny, I shook my head with a wry grin. This house fits her to a tee.

“So, this is where you live?” I ask, looking around after walking up the front steps and through the front door. Just like at her restaurant, I take in every detail, and every detail is so her. The home is older, two-story—as most are in this part of town—but it isn’t ostentatious. In fact, it’s quite the opposite, and the decor resembles that of the restaurant: elegant but homey, and one hundred percent her personality.

“Yep. I signed a four-year lease-option contract when Shelby and I moved in. We weren’t sure how the restaurant would do, but this summer it will be four years, so I have to decide if I’m staying and going to buy, or if I’m moving.”

“Any reason you wouldn’t want to stay? It looks like a great home. How big is it?” My eyes trail from the staircase in front of us to the left, which appears to be her sitting room and then behind it a dining room. All over the floor there are boxes of plates and piles of what look like linens, and on the table are different arrangements of flowers.

“It really is a great home,” she says as she drops one of her bags on the console next to the door. “It’s four bedrooms and three and a half baths. Selfishly, I want to be closer to OBA. I love to walk, but sometimes even I find it a little scary so early in the morning.”

My head whips back to her. She’s kicking off her heels, and she shrinks several inches to where her head barely reaches the top of my shoulder. My brows draw down, instantly not liking the direction this story is headed. “What time do you go in?”

“I try to be there by five to start baking.” She glances at me all innocently before walking into the room on the right and then farther into the house, toward what I’m assuming is the kitchen. Hobbling behind her, I follow.

“Yeah, I don’t think I like the idea of you walking there alone in the dark either.” I know I have no ability to make any claims about what she can and cannot do, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that walking around a city in the early dark hours of the morning is just dumb.

She glances at me again as she places the other bag, the one with the shrimp lasagna roll-ups we’ll have for dinner in it, in the refrigerator. There’s a frown on my mouth, whereas there’s a smirk on hers that says, Yeah, I don’t care what you think about me walking. I’m going to do what I want, when I want.

My frown deepens.

“That’s not safe, and you know it.”

Completely ignoring my concerns, she walks toward a doorway under the stairs, and my eyes trail down the backside of her. She’s wearing a green T-shirt and skintight jeans that highlight her tiny little ass. I know I’m not supposed to think about how her ass would feel in my hands as she wrapped her legs around my waist, but I’m a guy . . . come on now.

“So, let me give you a quick tour,” she says, changing the subject. She looks back over her shoulder and her eyes drop to my leg, the wheels turning as she assesses how mobile I am, but then she shrugs one shoulder and proceeds. “This is the dining room.” We move into it, and I watch as she looks at each of the decorations on the table. “It’s not usually cluttered like this, but Taylor and I have been planning for a brunch we have coming up.”

“Looks like a fancy brunch.” The arrangements range from large to small, with an array of items such as different flower looms, dogwood branches, and lemons.

Her cheeks tinge pink, and a small smile makes an appearance.