Lovers And Other Strangers. Dallas Schulze

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ have cream, but I think I’ve got milk.”

      “Black is fine.” Reece lifted the cup and took a sip, risking a scalded tongue in his eagerness. But it was worth it, he thought as the smooth, rich taste filled his mouth. “This is terrific coffee,” he said, sipping again.

      “It’s a blend of beans that I buy at a little coffee shop downtown. They roast it themselves.” She opened a cupboard, stared into it for a moment and then closed the door.

      “You do your own grinding?”

      “I haven’t figured out yet whether or not it actually makes a difference but the guy who runs the shop sneers if you ask him to grind it for you.”

      Shannon opened the refrigerator door, and Reece felt his stomach rumble inquiringly. It had been a long time since dinner last night, and if she cooked half as well as she made coffee, breakfast was bound to be special. Relaxing back against the counter, he sipped his coffee and allowed his eyes to linger on her legs with absentminded appreciation while he entertained fantasies of bacon and eggs or maybe waffles slathered in butter and maple syrup or—

      “How do you feel about Froot Loops?”

      Chapter 3

      “I haven’t really given them much thought,” Reece admitted cautiously.

      “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in having them for breakfast?” she asked. “I have that and Pepsi.”

      “Pepsi?” An image of multicolored, sugar-coated bits of cereal floating in a sea of flat cola flashed through his mind, and his stomach lurched. “On the Froot Loops?” he asked faintly.

      “Of course not!” Shannon’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “With it, not poured over it.”

      It seemed a marginal improvement. Reece took another swallow of coffee and tried to decide just how polite he should be in turning down her offer. It seemed a pity to offend someone who made coffee this good.

      Shannon sighed abruptly and pushed the refrigerator door shut with a thud. She turned to face him, her hands on her hips, her chin tilted upward. “The truth is, I don’t cook.” Her tone mixed apology and defiance. “In fact, I’m a complete disaster in the kitchen. I live on frozen dinners and junk food. Coffee is the only thing I can cook without destroying it, and that’s only because it’s an automatic pot.”

      “You invited me to breakfast,” he reminded her mildly.

      “I know.” She sighed and spread her hands in a gesture that might have been apology. “It was Edith’s idea.”

      “Cacklemeyer suggested you should ask me to breakfast?” His brows rose in disbelief.

      Shannon shook her head. “She said I shouldn’t. She came across the street while I was working in the garden.”

      Reece took a fortifying swallow of coffee and tried to sort out the conversation. “She walked across the street to tell you not to invite me to breakfast?”

      “Not exactly.” She scowled and shoved her hands in the back pockets of her cutoffs. His eyes dropped to the soft curves of her breasts, pure male appreciation momentarily distracting him from both the conversation and the emptiness of his stomach. “She came across the street to tell me to pull my marigolds and that you were sure to cause trouble. So, I told her I liked marigolds and that I was going to invite you to breakfast. I hadn’t planned on it, obviously.”

      “The marigolds or breakfast?” he asked, fascinated by her circuitous conversational style.

      “Breakfast,” she said, her eyes starting to gleam with laughter. “I knew I liked marigolds but I didn’t know I was going to invite you to breakfast until she annoyed me.”

      “So this was all part of a plot to irritate Cacklemeyer?” A more sensitive man would probably be offended, Reece thought.

      “I don’t think you could call it a plot.” Shannon’s tone was thoughtful. “If it had been a plot, I would have planned a little better and bought some decent food. Oh, wait!” Her eyes lit up suddenly. “There’s a box of waffles in the freezer, but I don’t think I have any syrup. I have grape jelly, though,” she added hopefully.

      Reece barely restrained a shudder. Her idea of “decent” and his were not quite the same. Nothing—not the best coffee he’d had in months, not five feet eight inches of long-legged, blue-eyed, dangerously attractive redhead—could make him eat toaster waffles spread with grape jelly.

      Shannon must have read something of his thoughts, because her hopeful expression faded into vague suspicion. “Are you a health food nut? One of those people who only eats roots and berries and never lets a preservative touch their lips?”

      Reece thought about the Twinkies lying on the seat of the truck. “No, I’ve got nothing against an occasional preservative.” He finished off his coffee—no sense in letting it go to waste—and set the cup down, trying to think of a tactful way to make his escape.

      Seeing his vaguely hunted expression, Shannon felt a twinge of amusement. Not everyone shared her casual attitude toward food. “Not a fan of grape jelly?”

      Reece caught the gleam in her eye and relaxed. “Actually, I’m allergic.”

      “To grape jelly?” Shannon arched one brow in skeptical question.

      “It’s a rare allergy,” he admitted.

      “I bet.” She told herself that she wasn’t in the least charmed by the way one corner of his mouth tilted in a half smile. “Fred and Wilma are on the jelly glass,” she tempted.

      “The Flintstones?” Reece shook his head, trying to look regretful. “That’s tough to turn down, but my throat swells shut and then I turn blue.”

      “Really?” Her bright, interested look startled a smile from Reece.

      “I hope you’re not going to make me demonstrate.”

      “I guess not.” Her mouth took on a faintly pouty look that turned Reece’s thoughts in directions that had nothing to do with breakfast. He reined them in as he straightened away from the counter.

      “Maybe I can take a rain check on breakfast?” he asked politely.

      “I’ll get an extra box of Cap’n Crunch next time I go shopping,” she promised, and he tried not to shudder.

      “You did what?” Her eyes wide with surprise, Kelly turned away from the pegboard full of sewing notions, a stack of chalk markers forgotten in her hand.

      “I invited him to breakfast,” Shannon repeated.

      “That’s what I thought you said.” Kelly came over to the cutting table where Shannon was making up color-coordinated packets of fabric and leaned against its edge, her expression a mixture of disbelief and admiration. “You just sauntered up and offered him bacon and eggs?”

      “Froot Loops,” Shannon corrected her. She slid a cardboard price tag onto a length of lavender ribbon before tying it around a stack of half a dozen different pink fabrics. “I didn’t have any bacon. Or eggs.”

СКАЧАТЬ