Jasper looked at her hands a moment, as if unsure how to proceed, then he placed them carefully on his wide, steady shoulders. Watching to gauge her reaction, he started to sway, side to side. Almost like they were dancing. It was ridiculous, yet it dulled the sharp edges of her panic. But panic over what? Carving a turkey? She抎 performed the task a thousand times in her life. 揑 don抰 know what happened.?
He pressed a thumb to the small of her back, moving it in a circle, and the remaining tension swirled down the drain. 揧ou don抰 have to figure it out now.?
揑 think I might have to. Sooner rather than later.?The dazed quality of Rita抯 voice made her sound as if she were speaking inside a closed shower stall. It could have been the cool blue of Jasper抯 eyes梩he lack of judgment there梠r the sudden lack of strain after her flashback. Maybe even the dancing. She didn抰 know. But words passed from her lips, quietly and without permission. 揑 don抰 think I can cook anymore.?Or try to be like her. 揑 don抰 think I ever could, anyway.?
His lips moved against her forehead. 揘ow, those seem like big decisions to make at a casual lunch.?
The laugh fizzed up her sternum and broke free. 揧ou probably wish you抎 been a little less nosy, now. That抣l teach you.?
揧oung people. Dancing in my kitchen.?Clapping hands went off behind Rita. Oh, God, she抎 actually forgotten they were at Jasper抯 grandmother抯 house. These people were virtual strangers to her. Tomorrow they would be a memory, and yet she抎 totally just had a fucking panic attack in their happy, cactus-themed kitchen. They抎 be talking about her for years to relatives and neighbors. You抮e right, of course. We never should have handed her that blade. It could have been so much worse. A tragedy, to be sure. Please pass the salt.
Rita pushed back from Jasper, who seemed oddly reluctant to let her go when he should literally be calling the local sanitarium. She held a hand to her forehead, searching for a way to make herself appear normal. 揑， um棓
Jasper flipped the carving knife back on, lowering it to the turkey, which was probably cold by now. 揥hat can I say, Rosemary? I must be some kind of secret chauvinist.?He gave an exaggerated smirk. 揑 saw this little lady attempting to cut the meat and my ancestors wouldn抰 stand for it.?
Obviously Jasper抯 grandmother was no stranger to his sense of humor, because she said, 揙h poo,?while reaching past Rita to hit him in the back with a dishrag. 揃e about your business, then. I have plans for the afternoon.?
揑抦 going, I抦 going.?He winked at Rita, his technique perfect as he operated the blade. Of course his technique was perfect. 揟ell me about your plans, Rosemary. If you抮e seeing Mr. Wells for the third time this week, that counts as serious in my book and I抣l be paying him a visit.?
Rosemary nudged Rita抯 arm and threw a withering glance at the heavens. As if to say, Can you believe this man? And, no, Rita couldn抰， exactly. Men usually found her strange or confusing. Sometimes she got really lucky and found a man who was turned on by strange, confusing women, but none of them cared enough to dance her out of a near panic attack. Or transitioned from calming her down to covering for her without missing a beat. Why was he donating so much energy to this temporary acquaintance? And why did she feel compelled to savor Jasper, too?
Realizing she抎 been standing there too long without speaking梐nd paying way too much attention to the way Jasper抯 triceps flexed as he operated the carver梘ym membership indeed桼ita opened a couple cabinets in search of a serving plate, wanting to give him a place to lay the slices of turkey. They sat down at the dining table five minutes later, passing around the kind of food usually reserved for once a year. Still feeling a little jumpy after the memory she抎 collided with in the kitchen, Rita managed to eat only a few bites of mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, stuffing, and turkey. Meanwhile, Jasper put away enough to feed a hungry construction crew, before asking for seconds.
揝o, Miss Rita.?Rosemary waved a dinner roll across the table as if it were a cell phone and she was searching for reception. 揑 don抰 know how much Jasper has talked about me桰抦 assuming quite a lot. Did he mention my senior group??
Rita swallowed the sip of Sprite she抎 taken. 揘o, that might be the one thing he didn抰 mention.?In her periphery she caught Jasper抯 grateful wink.
揥ell. We meet once a week for an activity.?She tossed her dinner roll back in the basket. 揂nd it just so happens this is my week to choose what us birds get up to.?
揙h.?She traded a look with Jasper, who抎 paused midchew. 揇id you come up with anything yet??
揂s it happens, something did fall into my lap.?Rosemary leaned in. 揥ouldn抰 it be a hit if you taught a cooking class? A big-time chef from梬here are you from, exactly??
揝an Diego,?Rita managed.
揝an Diego!?Rosemary settled in with that fact for a while. 揑t would only be a few of us. We could do it at the new kitchen at Jasper抯 eatery. Maybe in the morning before the bar opens and all the scuttlebutt filter in.?
Jasper was obviously thrilled over that description of his customers. 揟here wouldn抰 only be a few, Rosemary. There抯 damn near thirty of you.?
揟wenty-five,?she muttered. 揥hat do you say, Rita? Does this Saturday, the sixth, work for you??
揑抦 sorry, I won抰 be here that long.?For some reason, Rita felt the need to avoid looking at Jasper. 揗y family and I are leaving as soon as our Suburban is repaired.?
Why did Rosemary look skeptical? She did. One white eyebrow had lifted, along with the corner of her mouth. And, for a split second, the flightiness she抎 exhibited since they抎 pulled up fell away. 揝ure you are.?
Chapter Fourteen
Jasper pulled his bike into the parking lot of the motel, half wishing the place was another ten miles away just so Rita could cling to him a while longer. She抎 been quiet since they抎 left Rosemary抯 house. Then again, Jasper supposed he抎 been quiet, too. When they抎 set out this morning, time seemed like a relative thing, whereas now it was finite.
Well. He抎 just have to set his mind to carving out more, wouldn抰 he?
Unfortunately, the more time he spent with Rita, the more he wanted to fuck her into an incoherent state. His missing ability to feel a significant, sweaty, down-low attraction seemed to be making up for lost time, directing itself now toward Rita like a high-wattage, phallic-shaped spotlight. God, he wanted her riding him. Wanted to do some no-holds-barred riding himself, her knees wedged up underneath his armpits. Male intuition honed from too many hours spent being bad told Jasper they would move well together. Better than well. Explosively. Because his attraction to Rita wasn抰 limited to physical need. Around her, his faults and decent qualities felt caked to his skin, everything hovering on the surface, wanting to梩ouch her.
The way she抎 made him feel back in the kitchen, when she抎 hit him with a sucker punch courtesy of two golden-brown eyes? He抎 never experienced that kind of protectiveness before. Sure, he took his responsibility as an only grandson seriously, doing for those who抎 done for him. But that buildup of steam in his chest while swaying back and forth with Rita梙e wasn抰 letting the pressure seep out. He wanted to punch a few dials and see how much more steam he could handle. Those dials, however, were controlled by Rita.
He抎 waged a heavy debate with himself back on the highway, confident that if he took the turnoff to his house, he could end up in bed with Rita. The new bed he抎 purchased after burning the old one during a whiskey binge in his backyard. No one had been in the new bed save himself, but he could see Rita there. What he couldn抰 stand to see? Rita walking out the front door afterward, chalking him up to a satisfying fling on the road to something better.