Hell, what did he know about women’s makeup tricks? He appreciated every damn thing that a woman did to herself, but telling the difference between real and illusion…he was clueless. In the past, if a woman had been willing, and he was interested, he hadn’t much cared what was real and what wasn’t.
So why was it so important to him with “Jolene”?
Because he knew that “Jolene” wasn’t her name. And now he knew that…hell, her lashes should be brown. Yeah, that was the issue. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were the wrong color. A woman with dark hair would normally have dark lashes and dark eyebrows. But “Jolene” had light lashes and her eyebrows were barely visible.
Blonde. “Jolene” was a blond! Hell, why would anyone color her hair dark when she was a natural blonde? That made no sense.
Just another piece of the puzzle, he told himself.
Pulling himself together, he pushed away from the porch railing, remembering his manners. “Would you like a beer? Or wine? I have some wine.”
“Jolene” looked around him and spotted the beer on the railing. “A cold beer sounds great right about now.”
He nodded, then moved around her to retrieve two more beers. The one on the railing was mysteriously empty. He must have finished it off while watching her walk towards him. Derick was pretty sure that he’d never forget that moment. Never!
“It’s still pretty hot out here. Why don’t we go inside?”
She nodded and followed him into the kitchen. He reached into the fridge and pulled out two beers, twisting the tops off each before handing one to her. “Would you like a glass?” he asked, trying to remember the small things that women preferred. It had been a hell of a long time since he’d tried to impress a woman.
“This is fine,” she said, then took a long drink. Derick watched, more turned on by the minute. He should look away, but hell, a woman drinking beer was…hot! That word just kept popping into his mind.
“I put some cheese and crackers out. Help yourself,” he told her.
She sat at the counter, perching herself on the stool while admiring his kitchen. “Your house is lovely. Did you do most of the work yourself?”
“Yeah,” he replied, turning on the heat to boil the water. “I like working with my hands.”
Those words hung in the air around them, the tension increasing. Carrie watched him, wondering what his hands would feel like. After working with him today, she knew that his hands were callused, rough. But strong and capable. Tender even.
“The…” she cleared her throat. “The cabinets are new. Were the old ones too far gone to save?”
He pulled his eyes away from her and looked at the cabinets. “No. They were fine. I just wanted something different. These had cleaner lines.”
“They’re nice,” she said, nodding her head. “What else did you change?”
He shrugged. “Just recently, I pulled up the carpets. There were great hardwood floors underneath!”
“I prefer hardwood floors,” she replied, still nodding her head. “They add such warmth to a room. I also like the way that they sound when I walk over them. Carpets are nice too, but there’s something homey about hardwood floors.”
“I agree. I was surprised to find them in such good condition.”
While he cooked the pasta and stirred the sauce, they discussed the various renovation projects that they’d tackled over the years. He’d fixed up this house and one he’d lived in prior to here. But Carrie had more experience, since this was her fourth renovation.
When the pasta was ready, he gave her a heaping serving of the obviously homemade pasta, then poured lots of sauce over the top and a generous layer of cheese.
“I don’t think I can eat all of this,” she protested, laughing at the huge mound of pasta.
“You’re too skinny,” he told her, then brought his own bowl over to the table. “Eat!”
Carrie laughed and felt a warm glow ease over her. “I used to be overweight,” she admitted. “It’s weird to hear someone say that I’m too skinny.”
His fork froze. “Overweight?” he echoed. “Did you fill out that dress before?”
She grimaced and nodded. “Yes. The dress used to fit me perfectly.”
He shook his head. “Then you were too skinny before. And even more so now. So eat. I also have cookies for dessert.” He pointed his fork towards the bread. “And the same guy who made the pasta also made the bread today.”
She took a slice of the bread. “Today? The bread was just made today?”
“Yep. A friend of mine likes to bake when he’s stressed. Since his wife is about five months pregnant, he’s stressed a lot lately. So, he’s been baking up a storm.”
Carrie laughed. “Is this guy as big as you?”
“Bigger actually. Zeke tops me by at least an inch.”
“Wow!” She laughed again. “And is he just as muscular?”
Derick looked at her with a glare. “Nope! He wishes! He’s a wimp compared to me.”
Carrie smiled, suspecting that Derick’s friend was just as buff. “I’m sure he’s not as handsome,” she assured him.
“Not even remotely. Now eat.”
She smiled and twisted more of the amazing pasta onto her fork. “This is really good.”
“I can’t take credit for anything other than the vegetables. Zeke made the bread and the pasta and you made the sauce. It’s wonderful, by the way. I like the fresh basil.”
“My mother loved to make fresh sauce. She said that there was no reason to waste money on jarred sauce when fresh was better.”
“I have to agree.”
Carrie blushed with his praise.
After dinner, she helped him clean up even though he told her to go outside and sit on the porch. “I’ll be right out. I’ll just rinse these off and put them in the dishwasher.”
“I can help,” she countered, then flinched, startled that she’d dared to argue with him. But since his back was to her, Derick didn’t see her terrified cringe. Nor did he see her force herself to relax as he replied easily, “Okay, if that’s what you want.”
The idea that she could voice her opinion and disagree without repercussions was startling. She smiled as she helped him clean up.
Afterwards, they sat down on the porch together and he handed her a glass of amber colored something that smelled wonderful. The porch awash in moonlight, the music of the crickets as a backdrop.
“So, what do you do?” Carrie asked.
“I’m an officer in the Army,” he told her.
Carrie smiled, nodding her head. “I figured as much. You have that look about you.”
“What’s that look?”
She grinned. “The look that tells the world to do what you tell it to.”
“You don’t,” he replied. She could hear the smile in his voice even if his face was shadowed.
“I try to follow orders.”
He snorted and she could feel him shaking his head. “Only when you agree with them.” There was a long silence that didn’t feel awkward. A tension, but it was more of an awareness than anything else.