I put my purse to the bar, shrugged off my jacket, poured wine and asked, “You want more?”

“Top up would be good,” he muttered, reaching a long arm out to nab a bread knife from a knife block at the back counter.

I moved around the bar and topped up his wine. Then I assessed the salad stuff. After that, I assumed salad duty, keeping an eye on Nick who was very much sorting the bread. In fact, with an ease obviously born of practice, he was making homemade garlic bread, including microwaving crushed garlic, butter and olive oil, brushing, sprinkling bits of cheese and broiling.

I looked to the bubbling sauce.

“Homemade bread, does that mean homemade sauce?” I asked.

“Didn’t have time,” he muttered surprisingly, a mutter that alluded to the fact that, if he did, he could also have made homemade red sauce. “And hope you like meat,” he went on. “Sauce has got ground sirloin and Italian sausage in it.”

“I like meat,” I assured him.

His attention came to me on that but fortunately he didn’t treat me to some coarse, schoolboy, low-intellect comment.

He just gave me a look telling me he had one on the tip of his tongue and he was saving me from it.

“Thank you,” I replied to his look.

Another mistake.

He again started laughing.

It didn’t start with a surprised bark leading to audible hilarity with his shaking body pressed to mine making me feel we could have something that was beyond normal straight to amazing at the same time it was heart-stoppingly real.

But it was nearly as pleasant.

I concentrated on the salad.

All the veggies were fresh and high quality. With the latter, as was the wine.

“Did you shop for this?” I asked the tomato I was cutting into wedges.

“Found out no salon openings, called you, then yeah, I went to the market,” he answered.

He just didn’t throw this together.

He’d shopped.

God.

“Speaking of salons, booked us Wednesday night.”

I turned my attention to him. “I can’t Wednesday night.”

He lifted his brows.

I answered his unasked question. “Duty supper with my mother. After it, I have a habit of going to the emergency room to ask them to check my heartbeat, in other words, if there is one, and call in the on-call dentist to examine the possibility I’ve grown retractable fangs. This, since I’m relatively certain a vampire begets a vampire and so far in my lifetime those traits have been latent.”

More deep, pleasant laughter from Nick, this time with twinkling ocean blue eyes aimed at me.

And it was then I knew I was working for it.

I needed to get smart and fast. He might be able to respect boundaries but I already knew my heart had no clue what they were.

“Not close with your mom,” he pointed out the obvious, eyes still twinkling my way.