She took a steadying sip of the wine and tried not to let how rattled she was show.
Several minutes later, Jensen opened her oven and slipped in the casserole dish. He set the timer and then turned back to her.
“Let’s have another glass of wine in the living room while we wait for dinner to finish cooking.”
She slid from the stool, hoping she didn’t face-plant. She felt giddy and a little silly around him, like a teenager crushing on the quarterback. But then what did she know about such feelings? She’d never experienced them before because she’d never allowed herself to.
He waited for her at the end of the bar and held out his hand for her to take. She slid her fingers through his, enjoying the firm imprint of his hand against hers. They walked into the living room and then simply stood there, hands still entwined.
After a moment, he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist then lowered their clasped hands between them once more.
“Dinner will be ready in half an hour. Would you like to start the movie now or wait and watch it from start to finish after we eat?”
“We can wait,” she said breathlessly. “No reason we can’t sit and wait, right?”
“None at all,” he said in smooth tones.
He led her to the couch and sat, tugging her down beside him.
She was out of her element and she well knew it. She had no idea how to hold cutesy, flirty conversations. What was she supposed to say? Or do? Did they just sit here and stare at each other?
She glanced sideways at Jensen, looking for some clue, but he seemed perfectly content to sit next to her in silence. Several long, painful minutes ensued, the awkwardness growing more pronounced with each passing second.
“Maybe we should wait in the kitchen,” she hedged, uncomfortable with the quiet that had descended.
He glanced at her, his gaze indecipherable. It wasn’t warm like she’d become accustomed to. Just seeking. Had she committed some dating faux pas she was unaware of? God, she hated this. Surely there were rules or something.
“Look, uhm, you should know I really suck at this,” she said lamely.
Amusement glimmered in his eyes. “Breathe, Kylie. Like I told you before. It’s all right. We can go back into the kitchen if that makes you more comfortable. Why don’t you set the table and I’ll check on the progress of the chicken.”
Relieved to have something to break the awkwardness, she eagerly rose and headed back to the kitchen. Jensen’s hand on her shoulder stopped her just as she reached the bar.
“Relax, okay?”
His voice was soothing and as gentle as his touch. Her shoulder sagged beneath his hand and she turned.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “I told you I suck at this. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t date. I don’t know how this is supposed to work.”
He put his other hand to her shoulder and pulled her carefully into his embrace. He tucked her head beneath his chin and simply hugged her. It baffled her that such a mundane thing as a hug from this man instantly calmed her.
“It’s supposed to work however we make it work,” he said matter-of-factly. “I have no expectations for you to fulfill, Kylie. I merely want to spend time with you. Share a meal and enjoy your company. That’s all. Nothing more.”
She groaned. “I’m an idiot. You can say it.”
His body shook with laughter and then he patted her on the behind. “Go set the table and let me finish my pièce de résistance.”
She busied herself putting out plates and silverware and then got fresh wineglasses and placed the opened bottle on the table just as Jensen took the casserole dish from the oven.
It smelled heavenly and there was oodles of gooey, melty cheese bubbling over the bacon and the chicken. Her stomach rumbled in appreciation as he set it down on the table.
“It looks fabulous,” she said. “Is there anything you can’t do? You’re like Superman or something. I bet you don’t suck at anything.”
He pretended to give the matter serious consideration before grinning at her. “I guess it’ll be up to you to find all my faults. And believe me, the list is long, as I’m sure you’ve already surmised during our somewhat short acquaintance.”
She marveled at just how different he seemed around her. Somehow lighter and not as . . . broody. She’d had the thought before but it was reinforced all the more now. He no doubt was good for her, but maybe she was also good for him? It made her feel better to think so.
“I don’t suppose we did get off on the right foot,” she admitted ruefully. “I’m willing to admit that I was mistaken about you. You aren’t quite the ogre I thought you to be.”
He arched one eyebrow as he dished out portions onto the plates. “Not quite? So there’s still room for some ogreness in your dissection of me?”
She grinned at the mock seriousness of his question. “That remains to be seen, but I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“So very generous, this woman I’m cooking for.”
Her smile broadened, all the early awkwardness dissipating. It was starting to feel like a real date. Like two people flirting and verging on the cusp of something new. Good God, an actual relationship even.
Okay, she had to stop that line of thought or a panic attack would hit her full force. She focused instead on the delicious-smelling plate in front of her and dug in with her knife and fork.
The first bite hit all her taste buds in just the right spots. It was perfectly seasoned, tender, the homemade honey mustard sauce utter perfection, and bacon and cheese? It was a well-known fact that it was pretty damn hard to ruin anything by putting bacon and cheese on it.
“This is wonderful,” she breathed as she swallowed her second bite. “A man who looks like you and who can cook. I can’t imagine why you’re still single.”
There was a brief flicker in his eyes, gone almost before she registered it was there. But there had been something. A shadow. A remembrance. A sore spot, evidently, judging by that betraying flash. But it was quickly gone, replaced by that warm smile that she loved so much.
“Perhaps I’m merely waiting on the right woman to settle down,” he said sagely. “One can never be too finicky when choosing the person they want to spend their life with.”
“Boy, did you say a mouthful,” she muttered. “I couldn’t agree more. Or in my case, it would be more applicable to say that there is no desire to choose that person.”