Free Snowfall by Sharon Sala Page B

Connor at arm’s length, including proper clothing. Even though her pajamas were sensible blue flannel, a robe seemed in order. Stepping into her slippers, she made her way to the kitchen and found Mac standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot.
    “That smells good,” she said. “What is it?”
    Startled by the sound of her voice, he banged the spoon on the side of the pot as he turned around.
    “I didn’t know you were awake. Why didn’t you call me?”
    “I wanted to get up,” Caitlin said. “Is that soup?”
    “Yes, are you hungry?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’ll bring you some, just please sit back down.”
    Caitlin sighed. “I’m not that fragile.”
    Mac’s eyes were dark and unreadable, but the husky tremor in his voice gave him away. “You could have fooled me,” he said. “Have you looked in the mirror?”
    She made a face at him and then grimaced. “Oh, that hurt,” she muttered as she eased herself into a kitchen chair, refusing to admit he’d been right. Her legs were shaking.
    “Then don’t try to bite the hand that’s going to feed you. Literally.”
    Caitlin rested her chin in her hands and settled for a glare at his backside as he reached into the cabinet for a plate and a bowl. As she watched, it occurred to her that the last time she’d been in this kitchen there had been little in the way of food to eat.
    “Did you buy groceries?” she asked.
    “Aaron did.”
    She nodded. “Aaron thinks I eat like a teenager.”
    Mac gave her a curious look. “Well, do you?”
    Caitlin’s gaze caught and held on the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled and forgot what he’d said.
    “Caitlin?”
    She blinked. “Hmm? What?”
    “Do you eat like a teenager?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know. How does a teenager eat?”
    “Whatever is handy that’s salty or sweet and full of fat, ready in a minute or less, and comes in bulk.”
    “I don’t put Pepsi on my cereal,” she said, without admitting to anything else.
    Mac laughed aloud. “That’s a start.” Then he set the soup before her and handed her a spoon. “Eat up while it’s hot.”
    His laughter caused a funny twinge in her stomach, which she chalked up to hunger. The idea of making friends with this man made her think of trying to tame a tiger, and she wasn’t that stupid. Instead, she leaned over the bowl, inhaling the aroma as her mouth watered.
    “It smells wonderful. What is it?”
    “Potato soup. I seasoned it according to my taste, so if it’s a bit too salty for you, I can add some more milk.”
    “You mean this didn’t come out of a can?”
    “Nope. Want a sandwich to go with it?”
    “Sounds good, but I’d better stay with just soup for now…at least until my mouth isn’t so sore.”
    Mac frowned. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Maybe I should run the soup through a food processor. You could drink it rather than chew.”
    “That’s assuming I have a food processor, which I don’t,” she muttered, then slipped the first bite into her mouth, relishing the warmth as well as the flavor. “No need. This is perfect.” She waved her spoon toward the stove. “Aren’t you going to have some?”
    He hesitated. Sitting at the table with Caitlin Bennett meant drawing some kind of a truce. He wasn’t sure if that was such a good idea, but he was hungry, and she had offered.
    “Yeah, I guess,” he said, and dipped himself a hearty bowl, grabbed a handful of crackers and sat down in the chair across from hers without looking up.
    For a few minutes there was nothing to be heard but the occasional clink of a spoon against a bowl. Caitlin was the first to finish.
    “That was very good. Thank you.”
    Mac shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with her congenial mood. “You’re welcome.”
    “Somehow I never pictured you being so domestic,” Caitlin drawled.
    Mac’s eyes narrowed sharply. Something told him that congeniality was fading fast.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Oh, nothing,” Caitlin said.