His voice was slightly rough and she knew he was as affected by her proximity as she was by his.
Another step backwards. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘Nothing. Just sit down and I’ll get you a glass of wine.’
Perhaps he wished to establish some distance, and perhaps he was bang-on right.
Sarah retreated to a rustic wooden table and sat down, watching as he moved around the kitchen, enjoying the lithe deftness of his movement as he opened wine and assembled salad ingredients. The whole scene was surreal, but she figured she might as well enjoy the dreaminess.
As he handed her a glass of red wine he asked, ‘How is it going with your dad?’
‘Mum brought him back today and he’s going to stay with her for a week, whilst they sort out somewhere for him to stay. She says he’s still fragile, but they have talked and talked and it looks positive. Which is great.’
‘I’m glad. Now, I know you have your interview with the store manager tomorrow...’
The words were a welcome and prosaic reminder of the fact that soon enough hopefully he would be her employer.
‘I can help you prep, if you like?’
She bit her lip. ‘Is that cheating? It’s a bit of an unfair advantage being prepped by the boss, isn’t it?’
‘Nope. It’s called maximis
ing your assets. I’m here. You’re here. Use me.’
There was a depth of silence and he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he looked at her ruefully.
‘So to speak... I meant I’m happy to answer any questions about the store, about the job, about Sahara.’
‘Then, thank you. I’ll take you up on that.’
‘Go ahead.’
Twenty minutes later she whooshed out a breath. ‘Consider me well and truly prepped.’
‘Thank you.’
The oven pinged and as he bent down to open the oven door, heaven help her, she couldn’t tear her gaze from the way his muscles tautened. Finally she managed to look away, humming tunelessly under her breath to cover her discomfort.
Until he looked at her, one eyebrow raised. Almost as if he knew she’d been ogling, and she felt heat rise to her face.
Carefully, he carried the lasagne to the table, followed by the salad bowl, and it was a relief to busy herself with serving the food and focusing on the practicalities.
He sipped his wine. ‘Remember the head office option is still on the table.’
‘I know.’
Yet somehow it was impossible to imagine herself taking it. She couldn’t envisage herself in that setting, in that life.
‘One day...when Jodie is older...when I’ve sussed out childcare options and...’
Her voice trailed off. Was she making excuses? Of course not. For heaven’s sake—she was simply happy to have the potential of a permanent sales assistant job. That was enough. More than enough.
Determinedly she forked up some lasagne. ‘This is amazing.’
‘It’s one of my mum’s signature dishes. She comes over every so often, cooks up a storm and freezes it. She may not have red hair but she’s a wicked cook. Jodie would approve of her.’
‘I think Jodie would approve of anything you approve of.’