The Apple Tree (Sunday Morning, #2) (17)

She cleared her throat and sprinkled cinnamon and sugar into the bowl. “Did you punish yourself for being late to practice?”

I smirked over the bite of lasagna and nodded. “It’s only fair,” I mumbled.

“What do you think of your quarterback?”

“Drew? He’s good. Really good.”

Eve put the cinnamon and sugar into the brown paper bag she brought with her.

“How was your day? Do a lot of people stay at the motel?”

“No.” She laughed. “So I work slowly to get in the hours I want. I turn on the TV in the rooms while I clean. Watch a show. Clean things twice. No motel or hotel in this great state has cleaner rooms than the Devil’s Head Inn.”

I grinned. “By the way,” I used my fork to point to the lasagna, “this is the best meal I’ve had in years. Have you considered culinary school?”

Her nose wrinkled. “You just said that’s the best meal you’ve had in years, which felt like a compliment, but now you think I need schooling because it’s not good enough?”

“No. I suggested schooling because a degree in something makes you more marketable.”

“Did my parents tell you to talk to me about school?”

“No. This lasagna is amazing. Period. Forget I mentioned school.”

“Is it better than my mom’s tuna noodle casserole?”

“If I say yes, will you tell on me?”

“Depends.” She set Josh’s applesauce on the table at his seat. “What are you going to do for me?”

I nearly choked, so I drank some water and cleared my throat. “I figured I’d pay you for watching him.”

“I don’t want your money.” She tucked her hands into her back pockets, tightening her shirt against her chest. Either she wasn’t wearing a bra, or it was a thin one that didn’t hide her nipples.

Fuck.

“What do you want?” I murmured, pointing my gaze at the plate of food before me.

“I want you to teach me things.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My dick wanted the same thing. But no way it would happen in hell, heaven, or anywhere between.

“Math?” I asked with a grin. “Literature?”

“I want you to teach me to shoot a gun and use a bow and arrow. And I want to learn how to drive your fishing boat and fillet fresh-caught fish.”

I tapped my fork against my lips for a few seconds. “I’d have to ask your parents.”

Eve frowned, canting her head to the side. “You can’t be serious. I’m an adult. I can vote for the next president. Buy cigarettes. Get an abortion. Or get married. Oh, did I mention I can purchase my own gun?”

She had a good point, but it wasn’t that simple for me. “I think it’s better if I just pay you like I’d pay any other babysitter.”

Twisting her lips, she slowly nodded. “Fine.” She grabbed my plate, scraped the rest of my dinner into the trash, and set the plate and fork into the sink. Then she put the lid on the lasagna dish and gathered it and the paper sack in her arms. “Josh, your applesauce is on the table,” she called on her way to the front door. “I’ll see you later.”

Josh ran past me as I followed Eve.

She shoved her feet into her white sneakers, but with her hands full, she couldn’t get the left shoe past her heel. I squatted before her, untied her shoe, and put it on her correctly. After I finished tying it, my fingers feathered up her calf. I quickly stood the second I realized what I was doing and seemingly had no control over my unexplained impulse to touch her leg.

“You didn’t have to throw my dinner in the trash,” I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Anything to dismiss what I just did.

But Eve didn’t miss it. She looked like a frozen statue, not so much as a blink. After the longest seconds and most uncomfortable moment of my life, she released a slow breath, rubbing her lips together—and then she fucking smirked. “I only do nice things for people who can return a favor. You don’t know how to reciprocate. You’re a boring rule follower. I’ve never met anyone so square … except for my parents. Good night, Mr. Collins.” She turned and bent forward to push open the screen door rather than asking for help.

“I can carry those home for you,” I said.

“Josh is eating. You can’t leave him alone. I’ve got it.”

“I haven’t paid you.”

She descended the porch stairs. “Think of it as a trial run that didn’t work out. A free trial.”

“Eve—”

I wanted to follow her, but she was right. Josh was eating his applesauce, and while it was unlikely that he’d choke on it, I couldn’t risk it.

I touched her leg.

Could I have been a bigger creep?





CHAPTER SEVEN





MICHAEL JACKSON, “THE WAY YOU MAKE ME FEEL”





Eve

Erin was my biggest competitor in cross country, which meant she was always willing to run with me when I needed to burn off frustration. After depositing the leftover lasagna and bag of ingredients at home, I drove straight to her house because I had a lot of steam and so much to share with my best friend.

“He touched my leg!” I said for the hundredth time after telling her the events.