Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [50]
“Pretty,” Adam agreed, “sure, but she’s a disaster in the kitchen. I’m teaching her to cook, starting with eggs.”
“I know how to cook eggs,” Miranda protested.
Ignoring her, Adam said, “Can I have a pound of unsalted butter and a dozen of the free-range ones, freshest you’ve got?”
Miss Yvonne nodded, but didn’t move. She pursed her lips. Adam followed her gaze to Miranda, who crossed her arms over her chest.
“You’re right,” Adam said. “Better make it two dozen.”
Miranda was still fuming when Adam let her into his redbrick townhouse. In spite of her annoyance—a master chef, and all he’d teach her to make was eggs? What a waste of time—Miranda observed that Adam’s street was quiet and tree-lined, across from a small park with a baseball diamond.
“Ancient building,” Adam explained as he juggled the shopping bag while trying to get his enormous key to turn. “Chock full of charm, somewhat low on the modern conveniences.”
“Like a working lock?” Miranda took the shopping bag from his arm, and Adam flashed her a grateful smile. Without the hindrance of a sackful of fragile food items, Adam put his back into it and managed to jimmy the stubborn lock open.
Stepping aside to let Miranda through, he said, “Keep in mind I wasn’t planning on having any visitors today.”
He sounded nervous, and Miranda went inside expecting to see some shameful evidence of bachelor living, like porn magazines on the coffee table or empty takeout boxes stacked to the ceiling.
But there was nothing like that. The place wasn’t neat as a pin, but it wasn’t overrun by dust bunnies, either.
Honey-colored hardwood floors gleamed under the natural light coming in from a pair of sliding doors at the back of the apartment. She could see that outside there was a postage-stamp patio edging a small backyard, green with foliage and grass.
Drawn to the unusual sight of an urban garden, Miranda walked over to the glass doors before realizing that put her squarely in the man’s bedroom area. It was cut off from the rest of the apartment by a floor-to-ceiling bookcase, so she hadn’t noticed the low platform bed.
Rumpled navy blue sheets were twined together with a charcoal gray and blue glen plaid coverlet. The bed itself was wide and soft looking, and Miranda became aware of exactly how little sleep she’d gotten the night before. Surely that was the reason for her sudden, overwhelming desire to crawl in and snuggle down.
“Bed’s not made, sorry,” Adam apologized, still with that edge of discomfort in his voice.
“No, I shouldn’t have . . .” Miranda stopped, feeling extremely awkward.
Why had he kissed her earlier? It made everything so much more fraught and difficult. As if it hadn’t already been tense enough between them.
Adam cleared his throat and said, “Kitchen’s through here.”
Miranda followed where he led with relief, barely aware of the living room with its ratty couch and screaming music posters.
As soon as they hit the kitchen, Adam bounced back from whatever attack of nerves he’d been suffering. Miranda could certainly see why—this kitchen would lift anyone’s spirits.
“I’ve never seen a kitchen this big in an apartment this size,” she said, marveling at the expanse of granite countertop laid out before her.
Running a hand over the smooth chocolate-flecked granite, Adam said, “Yeah, it’s awesome. Technically, though, the kitchen isn’t just for this apartment. It used to be the kitchen for the whole house. It’s only in the last year that the building was converted to two apartments.”
“What a shame,” Miranda said. Catching sight of Adam’s raised eyebrows, she amended, “Well, it’s nice for you, of course! But what a gorgeous place this must’ve