Mister Romance by Amelia Simone (the reading list .txt) 📕

“You wooed her with roadside service?” I asked with a smirk. He had no idea how much I envied his easy charm. In his position, I’d have made a horror movie joke and been surprised when Janine locked herself in the car to call the cops.

He shrugged. “Maybe she likes a man in uniform? We hit it off, and she appreciated my help with her tire. We exchanged numbers.”

If only it were that easy. “Well, good luck tonight. Don’t forget your jack and tire iron.”

“We’re taking my car, smartass.”

I chuckled, and he let himself out the front door, shutting it behind him. Some friends gave dating advice. True friends inspect your apartment for serial killer vibes.

I double-checked that I had put the wine in the fridge to chill and kept working on dinner as Tom Petty crooned in the background. Focusing on my meal prep kept my mind from wandering to what Tamra would think of dinner. Jimmy had good-natured allure when it came to wooing women, but I had cooking skills. However, kissing her silky skin was not on the menu. Learning about nursing was. I could still feel my blood rushing faster in anticipation of Tamra’s arrival in ... twenty short minutes. Crap.

Dinner was nowhere near ready, and I’d run out of time to clean the kitchen. I wiped my hands on a towel and moved quickly to the stove. Luckily, I’d already browned the chicken, so I only needed to take care of the rice and let it simmer.

Having home court advantage seemed like a good idea when I had invited Tamra over. I’d pulled off a short coffee meeting, but tonight would be a much longer endeavor. Eons longer to control my mouth. I glanced to my desk as I stirred the pot, comforted that my interview notes and questions were waiting for me. My little Moleskine was reassuringly solid, like an old friend. Even if I stroked it more like a security blanket. My precious.

Talk less. Listen more. Use notes. No deviations.

Easy. Not.

I wondered if reading the questions straight from my notebook at the dinner table would be gauche. Pretty sure Jimmy would tell me a resounding “yes” to that one. I could never remember what topics were forbidden during a meal. I needed to reign in the natural curiosity that always wanted me to dive straight into the nitty-gritty. Work was allowed; politics was not. I was more than a little confused about the weather. Was that too boring to bring up, or too political now that climate change was becoming more apparent every day? If all else failed, I knew she loved romance novels. So long as we weren’t dissecting the steamier scenes over chicken and rice, that was allowed, right?

My musing was interrupted by a buzz at the door. I glanced at the clock—Tamra was right on time. I wiped my hands and checked that the rice wouldn’t burn while I stepped away, then answered the door.

As I pulled it open, I got a waft of Tamra’s subtle scent. Jasmine and ... grapefruit? She smelled citrusy and decadent at the same time. I inhaled deeply and smiled as she stood fidgeting on my mat. I opened the door wide in invitation. “Thank you for coming, Tamra. It’s good to see you again.”

She smiled tightly at me. “Me too. I wasn’t sure what to expect.” She stepped inside, glancing quickly around at my writing nook and living room. “This is all very normal. I’ll be sure to share that in my report.”

Huh. I was usually the one saying the mildly uncomfortable things. “I’m glad you think so. Writing is a job like any other. Dare I ask who you’re reporting to?”

I tried to smile reassuringly, but Tamra’s body language remained stiff. She gave me a quick glance before continuing her perusal of the apartment, avoiding my gaze. “My friend Gina. She knows where I’m at tonight.”

I nodded. Good. I was glad she’d told someone where she was. And doubly glad Jimmy had encouraged me to take down the poison poster. Tamra was dressed casually in body skimming jeans and a simple V-neck blue top that gave a hint of cleavage. Her brown curls coiled in loose waves around her head. Unfortunately, they were the loosest thing about her at the moment. My hug had done more damage than I thought. Maybe some wine would help her unwind. I gestured for her to follow me into the kitchen, careful to keep a respectable distance between us.

“Would you like a glass of wine? I have a white blend in the fridge, or a pinot noir I can open if you’re a snob. Would you like a glass?”

Tamra nodded quickly, her movements jerky. No laugh at the snob comment. The evil part of me was glad that I wasn’t the only one who was nervous about our evening together. Overriding that was the desire to help her to relax. Prove I could be trusted. I quickly poured her a glass of the white and tried to make conversation to ease the tension.

“I hope you’re okay with chicken, chorizo, and rice tonight. I’m making arroz con pollo. You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

She shook her head. If she didn’t say something soon, I was going to develop a complex. Lost, I decided to lean into my one strength. “If you want to have a seat at the island, I’m going to make the salsa verde. Have you ever made arroz con pollo?”

She shook her head again but took a seat at the island with her glass of wine, watching me intently. I chattered about the recipe as I seeded and minced a jalapeño and pulled out my food processor.

The wine or my cooking chatter must have loosened her tongue. She finally asked, “Will it be spicy?”

I held back my wince. I didn’t think to ask if that would be a problem when planning tonight’s menu. I swallowed and