True believer - Nicholas Sparks [93]
He widened his eyes, feigning shock. “You have beer? I thought you didn’t drink much.”
“I don’t.”
“For someone who doesn’t drink, though, a six-pack can do a lot of damage.” He shook his head before going on. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were planning to go on a bender this weekend.”
She shot him a withering look, but, like yesterday, there was something playful in it. “It’s more than enough to get me through the month, thank you very much. Now, would you like one or not?”
He smiled, relieved at their familiar exchange. “I’d love one, thanks.”
“Would you mind getting it, though? I’ve got to get the sauce going.”
Jeremy moved to the refrigerator and pulled two bottles of Coors Light from the six-pack. He twisted one cap off and then the other before setting a bottle before her. When she saw it, he shrugged. “I hate to drink alone,” he said.
He raised his bottle in toast and she lifted hers as well. They clinked bottles without a word. Leaning against the counter beside her, he crossed one leg over the other. “Just to let you know, I’m pretty good at chopping if you need help.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.
He smiled. “How long has your family owned this place?”
“My grandparents bought it right after World War II. Back then, there wasn’t even a road on the island. You had to drive across the sand to get here. There are some pictures in the living room of how this place looked back then.”
“Would you mind if I took a look?”
“Go ahead. I’m still getting things ready. There’s a bathroom down the hall if you want to wash up before dinner. In the guest bedroom on the right.”
Moving to the living room, Jeremy examined the pictures of rustic shore life, then noticed Lexie’s suitcase near the couch. After debating for an instant, he grabbed it and headed down the hall. On the left, he saw an airy room with a large pedestal bed topped by a seashell-patterned comforter. The walls were decorated with additional photos portraying the Outer Banks. Assuming this was her room, he set her suitcase just inside the door.
Crossing the hall, he entered the other room. It was nautical in theme, and the navy curtains provided a nice contrast to the wooden end tables and dresser. As he slipped off his shoes and socks at the foot of the bed, he wondered what it would be like to sleep in here while knowing Lexie was alone across the hall.
At the bathroom sink, he peeked at himself in the mirror and used his hands in an attempt to get a semblance of control over his hair again. His skin was coated with a thin layer of salt, and after washing his hands, he splashed water on his face as well. Feeling somewhat better, he went back to the kitchen and heard the melancholy notes of the Beatles’ “Yesterday” coming from a small radio on the windowsill.
“Ready for some help yet?” he asked. Beside her, he saw a medium-size salad bowl; in it were small chunks of tomatoes and olives.
While rinsing the lettuce, Lexie nodded toward the onions. “I’m almost done with the salad, but would you mind taking the skin off those?”
“Sure. Do you need me to dice them, too?”
“No, that’s okay. Just take off the skins. The knife is in the drawer there.”
Jeremy pulled out a steak knife, and reached for the onions on the counter. For a moment, they worked without speaking, listening to the music. As she finished with the lettuce and set it off to the side, Lexie tried to ignore how close they were standing together. But from the corner of her eye, she couldn’t help admiring Jeremy’s casual grace, along with the plane of his hips and legs, the broad shoulders, the high cheekbones.
Jeremy held up a bald onion, oblivious to what she’d been thinking. “Like this?”
“Just like that,” she said.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to dice it?”
“No. If you do, you’ll ruin the sauce, and I’ll never forgive you.”
“Everyone dices the onions. My Italian mother dices the onions.