Free Coming Home to Love (Lakeside Porch Series Book 2) by Katie O'Boyle Page B

blustered. “The fish department—”
    “Nonsense.” She planted her hands on her hips. “They’d have given you wine suggestions and coached you to pick out two of their ready-to-bake salmon steaks.” She tapped her foot with an agitated rhythm.
    Justin enjoyed the display. He folded his arms and raised one eyebrow.
    Gianessa pushed out her chest with a sniff.
    Justin took slow steps in her direction. “So,” he observed, “two imposters have revealed themselves.”
    Gianessa stood her ground. “I’m not an imposter.”
    He smiled disarmingly. “Nor are you an entirely cool, reserved, disinterested professional.”
    Gianessa’s eyes opened wide. They stared at each other.
    Justin savored the moment of truth. He could see by the set of her cheeks and mouth and jaw that she would never blink first, but he also detected a glimmer of fear in her violet eyes. He was going to blow it with her if he didn’t back off.
    “Full disclosure.” He shifted his weight to his back foot and let his smile soften. “I am a decent cook, but I don’t know the first thing about planning a week’s worth of menus that represent good nutrition and that are strictly gluten-free.”
    The tapping continued—nervous, hesitant.
    “You do, Gianessa, and I need to learn.” He spoke with all the humility he could muster.
    She huffed.
    Justin spread his hands in surrender. “And I have the social skills of a bull in a china shop.”
    She snorted at that and struggled against a smile.
    Justin sat on the nearest stool and rested one elbow on the island. “I asked you to come today because I wanted to know you better, yes, but I also need to learn to cook regularly for myself, without gluten, ever. And I enjoy cooking with a partner, much more than by myself. If you’d like to go home, I will accept that, and I’ll give you a ride.”
    “Oh, shut up. We’re wasting a good salmon.” She executed a dazzling hip swivel, reached across the sink for a handful of paper towels, and set about preparing the salmon.
    Justin muffled a laugh.
    He moved to the counter a few feet from her and measured the ingredients for the poaching liquid. Gianessa pre-heated the oven and scrubbed the potatoes. Justin set the beets on the stove to blanch and assembled ingredients for the salad. Gianessa thick-sliced the potatoes and fennel and tossed them with olive oil on a baking sheet.
    While the potatoes roasted and the salmon poached, she demonstrated the simple art of making vinaigrette.
    “It’s not as tricky as I thought,” Justin concluded. “But then, you’re a good teacher.”
    “Thank you. I’ll let you dress the salad with our vinaigrette.”
    When the oven timer rang in the middle of tossing the salad, Justin calmly set down the salad utensils, pushed his hands into big oven mitts, slid out the roasting pan, and set it on the range next to the poacher.
    Gianessa cocked her head. “You’re very comfortable in the kitchen. And fun to cook with.” That got her a smile. “I’ll finish the salad if you’ll set the table.” She watched Justin while she tossed the salad.
    He selected plates and salad bowls from a cupboard and prepared the table for them, humming as he worked.
    She smiled at his happy, slightly off-key tune. At last she identified it. “‘Anticipation? ’” she said with a laugh.
    He turned and saw her watching him. “Carly Simon, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    Justin held her eyes. “We need music. What do you like?”
    “Surprise me.”
    “No. I want to know what you like.”
    “This afternoon, a quiet, slow jazz would do it for me. Does Joel have anything like that?”
    “Joel is not a jazz fan, but he has satellite radio.” Justin flipped two switches and adjusted the volume on a sexy, slow jazz quartet. “I found this station last night. Does it do it for you?”
    “Perfectly. You have good taste.”
    Seated at the table by the French doors, they toasted with Waterford goblets and tucked into the meal. Justin