Free Simply Irresistible by Rachel Gibson

knuckles in the front pocket of his jeans and shifted his weight to one foot. “Ernie sometimes forgets that not everyone eats as little as he does. You should have said something.”
    “Well, I didn’t want to impose any more than I already have,” she said, and smiled sweetly at him. She could see his hesitation and pressed a little further. “And I didn’t want to hurt your grandfather’s feelings, but I hadn’t eaten all day and was starving. But I know how older people are. They eat soup or salad and call it a meal while the rest of us call it first course.”
    His lips curved slightly.
    Georgeanne took the slight smile as a sign of acquiescence and walked past him into the kitchen. For a jock who admitted he didn’t like to cook, the room was surprisingly modern. She opened the almond-colored refrigerator and mentally inventoried its contents. Ernie had mentioned that the kitchen was well stocked, and he hadn’t been kidding.
    “Can you really make gravy with tuna fish?” he asked from the doorway.
    Recipes flipped through her head like a Rolodex as she opened a cupboard filled with a variety of pasta and spices. She glanced at John, who stood with one shoulder propped against the frame. “Don’t tell me you want creamed tuna? Some people like it, but if I never have to see or smell it again, I could live quite happy.”
    “Can you make a big breakfast?”
    Georgeanne shut the cupboard and turned to face him. The silky black belt at her waist came loose. “Of course,” she said as she tightly retied it into a bow. “But why would you want breakfast when you have all that wonderful seafood in your refrigerator?”
    “I can have seafood anytime,” he answered with a shrug.
    She’d accumulated a variety of culinary skills from years of cooking classes and was eager to impress him. “Are you sure you want breakfast? I make a killer pesto and my linguine with clam sauce is to die for.”
    “How about biscuits and gravy?”
    Disappointed she asked, “You’re kidding, right?” Georgeanne couldn’t remember being taught how to make biscuits and gravy, it was just something she’d always known how to do. She supposed it had been bred into her. “I thought you wanted oysters.”
    He shrugged again. “I’d rather have a big, greasy breakfast. A real southern artery clogger.”
    Georgeanne shook her head and opened the refrigerator again. “We’ll fry up all the pork we can find.”
    “We?”
    “Yep.” She placed a summer ham on the counter, then opened the freezer. “I need you to slice the ham while I make biscuits.”
    His dimple creased his tan cheek as he smiled, and he pushed himself away from the doorframe. “I can do that.”
    The pleasure of his smile sent a flutter to the pit of Georgeanne’s stomach. As she placed a package of sausage links in the sink and ran hot water over them, she imagined that with a smile like his, he’d have no problem getting women to do anything he wanted anytime he wanted it. “Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, as she turned off the water and began pulling flour and other ingredients out of cupboards.
    “How much of this do I slice?” he asked instead of answering her question.
    Georgeanne glanced across her shoulder at him. He held the ham in one hand and a wicked-looking knife in the other. “As much as you think you’ll eat,” she responded. “Are you going to answer my question?”
    “Nope.”
    “Why?” She dumped flour, salt, and baking powder into a bowl without measuring.
    “Because,” he began, and hacked off a hunk of ham, “it’s none of your business.”
    “We’re friends, remember,” she reminded him, dying to know details of his personal life. She spooned Crisco into the flour and added, “Friends tell each other things.”
    The hacking stopped and he looked up at her with his blue eyes. “I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine.”
    “Okay,” she said, figuring she could always tell a little white lie