Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [49]
“Enhance,” Miranda said. “Your personal relationship with Dava enhances your experience of her food.”
“Exactly,” Adam said, thrilled. She totally got it. “That’s what I’m trying to do with Market,” he said, getting warmed up. “I want people to feel connected to what they eat, to get that level of enjoyment out of it.”
They passed a flower stand and Miranda hovered by the peonies before smiling at the vendor and moving on. “But how can you expect people to taste what you taste when most of them will never meet Dava? Are you going to organize tours of the Greenmarket?”
The idea lit up Adam’s mind like the power burner on his Viking range.
“I love that.” He beamed. “No, really, I think I might do that. Maybe an early-morning tour of the Union Square Greenmarket, some lessons on picking produce, followed by lunch at the restaurant. You’re a serious genius!”
He grabbed Miranda by the waist and twirled her around, laughing. She gasped, her cherubic little mouth a perfect O of surprise, before she smacked at his shoulder with one hand.
“Put me down, you idiot,” she said, tart as vinegar, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Adam wrinkled his nose at her and let her feet kiss pavement.
He didn’t unhand her waist, though, and after only a second Miranda’s pretty pink flush kicked in.
“That’s what I was waiting for,” he said, filled with satisfaction.
“What?” she asked, a tiny bit breathless as she pulled away and cast a glance around as if hoping no one had noticed her in his arms. Adam could’ve told her that everyone had probably noticed, but no one had cared. This was New York. Weirder shit happened all the time than two happy people in a clinch.
Instead he said, “That blush. I like it when your cheeks match your hair.”
She blushed even harder, but stuck her nose in the air and said, “I happen to be very susceptible to changes in altitude. The blood rushed to my head as a purely physical reaction to being lifted.”
Adam snorted and went back to looking for the dairy stall. “Right. And I suppose you kissed me earlier as a purely physical reaction to being belowground, in a basement stairwell.”
“I—You kissed me,” she cried. She looked ready to stomp her little foot in frustration.
“Yeah, but you kissed me back.” Adam thought it was only reasonable to point that out.
Miranda threw her hands up in despair. Adam noted with interest the way the movement made the crisscrossing fabric of her dress gape a little right at the best possible spot.
Maybe it made him a pervert, but Adam defied any red-blooded straight man not to sneak a peek at lacy underthings whenever he had the opportunity. Especially if said opportunity took place while the aforementioned lacy underthings were being worn by a smoking hottie like Miranda Wake.
The prim-and-proper aspiring authoress wore a see-through bra made of aqua netting, with a teeny pink silk rosebud adorning the fabric between her breasts. All this underneath her plain, gray, suitable-for-the-office dress.
Got to love a woman of contradictions, Adam reflected as they moved through the market. Right next to a stooped, elderly lady selling honey was the dairy stand. A tall black woman wearing a multicolored kerchief studded with gold charms wrapped around her short hair stood serenely behind the folding table.
“Miss Yvonne,” Adam greeted her. “How’s it going?”
“Oh, you know,” she said in her slow, rich voice. “It’s going all right. Who’s your girl?”
“Miranda Wake,” the girl in question said without waiting for Adam to introduce her. She held out a hand and Miss Yvonne took it languidly, casting a sharp eye over at Adam.
“Pretty,” Miss Yvonne said. “You sure got an eye, boy. But this one’s got a sweetness to her, like fresh milk.” Miss Yvonne nodded her head, making her jewelry chime softly.
Adam flashed a grin, hoping