I wince. “Sorry. Was that an asshole white-guy assumption?”

“No, it’s fine. Dad’s parents were secular Hindus. Religion wasn’t really that important to them, but then he met my mom, who is a devout Catholic. He knew it was important to her, and he was happy to convert. Some of his childhood habits stuck, though, like the red-meat thing. I had my first hamburger in college and thought I’d died and gone to heaven. What about you? Steak or chicken?”

I stand up and start clearing plates. “Steak every time.”

She grabs my wrist, stopping me before I can pick up her plate. “You cooked. I’ll clean.”

“But I like taking care of you.” I don’t just mean the meal or the cleanup, and when she lifts her eyes to meet mine, I see the heat there. Is she thinking about Saturday night too?

“Only you could turn a discussion about who loads the dishwasher into a come-on line, Carter.” She’s trying to be flippant, but I don’t miss the way her gaze dips to my mouth or the flutter of her pulse at the base of her neck.

“I don’t know what you mean.” I wink and take the plates away before she can protest again.

“Thank you,” she says, even as she grabs the leftover salad from the table and follows me into the kitchen. “I know you prefer coffee to tea and beer to wine. What about hobbies? Any I should know about before I do one hundred introductions?”

“Other than collecting little bits of your hair?”

She throws her head back and laughs. It’s the best fucking sound, rich and full. “I’m so proud of myself for that,” she says.

“You should be. It was golden. And now all those damn ‘Carter the puppy hero’ Facebook fan pages are probably filled with tales of my creepy hair-collecting ways.”

“You really hate everyone making a big deal of that, don’t you?”

I scoff as I load the plates into the dishwasher. “Trust me, you’d hate it too. I’m not shy, but I like my privacy, and when this all blew up, suddenly I had to fight for it. I’m ready for it to be over.”

She’s quiet, and when I look up, she’s frowning at me. “Is that it? Really?”

I know what she means, but I can only shrug. “There are men and women fighting every day in the military, firefighters risking their lives, police officers facing dangerous criminals. Hell, even Molly coming back to Jackson Harbor and facing her jerk of a stepfather showed more bravery than what I did that day. I’d rather we acknowledge actual heroics instead of mislabeling something because we want an excuse to look at a shirtless guy carrying a puppy.”

She’s quiet again. I’m afraid she can see right through me, so I turn to fill the sink with soapy water. I’m not much of a housekeeper, but I’ve always enjoyed the ritual of cleaning up after a meal, and I find my pulse slows and my breathing settles as I scrub the pans.