But he froze when Trisk’s silhouette moved between him and the smaller kitchen window. Oh God. Trisk, he thought, the sight of her and the soft clinks as she arranged something on a tray overwhelmingly domestic and soothing. Wisps of the night came reluctantly back: her awkward help getting him to the parking lot, their almost one-sided conversation in her car, her distant, almost preoccupied admission that an old friend had taken a job with Saladan Industries and Farms. To work with her?
Adrenaline woke him up fast as Daniel searched for his shoes, not finding them. He ran a hand over his stubbled cheeks, then fumbled to straighten his tie only to realize it was missing, too. And then she drove me to her house, he thought, when Trisk turned, tray in hand. Maybe she’d reconsidered and wanted to change their relationship.
“Good morning,” she said cheerfully, her low voice blessedly soft, and he stared as she came down the single step and into the sunken living room. The sun glowing through her hair was amazing, until she passed out of the beam and it was gone. “How are you doing?”
“Trisk,” he said, wincing at how rough his voice was. God help me, this is not how I wanted to do this. “I haven’t woken up on a strange couch in a house I didn’t recognize since my undergrad.” He hesitated, embarrassment making him squint. She was absolutely gorgeous in a casual halter top and wide-bottomed jeans, nothing like her usual self. Not that her usual self wasn’t gorgeous, too. “Ah, sorry about last night. I must have been a real ass.” But I wouldn’t know, seeing as I was stone-cold drunk. Almost his entire night was gone. He would’ve sworn he hadn’t had that much to drink.
Trisk set the tray down, the slight scrape it made going right through his head. “You were a complete gentleman. Fell asleep before the pasta was cooked.”
Daniel looked up from the four muffins and coffee. “I fell asleep while you were making dinner? You offered to make me dinner, and I fell asleep?”
But she was beaming as she sat down kitty-corner to him, her feet almost lost in the thick-looped red rug. “Don’t sweat it. It was canned sauce.”
Between his head and his gut, he was reluctant to try eating anything, and he absently tugged at his rumpled shirt again. He vaguely remembered using the bathroom last night, but not where it was, and he was too embarrassed to ask.
“The coffee is black and the muffins are guaranteed to sit well,” Trisk prompted, and he looked from the tray to her folded hands, feeling ill. “Promise. It’s my grandmother’s recipe. Apparently she was known for her parties that lasted until noon the next day.”
If he didn’t eat something, she’d think he was an ungrateful slob, not just a slob. Hand shaking, he reached for the coffee, surprised when the bitter brew slipped into him with hardly a twinge from his middle, relaxing him even as it brought him awake.
“Thank you. Is this your house?” he asked when Trisk took her own cup in hand, clearly pleased. “I mean, it’s really nice,” he added, hearing how that sounded. “They must pay you more than me,” he muttered.
Trisk laughed, making him feel better. “It was an old farm that someone tried to turn into a bed and breakfast. They remodeled everything, added bathrooms and a kitchen to code. But it’s too far out from the city. I got a great price for it because they redrew the floodplain and it’s in it. I put in twenty-five acres of trees the first year I was here and turned it into a pecan ranch.”
He followed her eyes to the rows of sticks beyond the windows, his mood softening as he saw in her a slow anticipation. It made her more beautiful yet, and he again wondered why he was sitting on her couch. She’d been gently adamant yesterday that she wanted to keep their relationship just as it had been for the last three years, but here he was.
“Low-maintenance, long-term investment,” she added, seeming to give herself a shake as she brought herself back. “I originally bought it because of the stables. I might have horses someday.”
“I like horses,” he lied as he reached for a muffin. Bolstered by the coffee, he gingerly took a cautious bite, surprised to find that the dry texture mixing with the sharp bite of cherries went a long way in settling his stomach. “I like these muffins even more,” he said appreciatively. “These are really good. Thank you, Grandma Cambri.”
Trisk’s smile widened, and a new sense of camaraderie swept him, dangerously hopeful. He took another bite, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “And thank you for not letting me wake up in my lab,” he said softly. “That’s so unprofessional.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, sounding just as vulnerable, and he looked up, embarrassed that she was seeing him hungover and freaking out at the end of his project.
“I’m so sorry,” he added, hoping she’d understand. “This isn’t the way I wanted to spend our first evening together: you in the kitchen, and me passed out on the couch.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Trisk said, but she was gazing out at her trees. “No one but George saw us leave. And even if they did, I don’t think anyone would think twice about it.” Now she brought her attention back to him, and he felt his heart clench. “You worked hard on this project, and no one blames you for wigging out when someone comes in at the eleventh hour to possibly try to claim the credit for your work.”
It truly seemed as if she understood, and he wondered what had happened in her past that she wasn’t telling him. She was one of the best researchers he’d ever had the privilege of working with, and even considering her relatively young age, it was strange that there were no papers, no journal articles with her name on them. He’d looked. Perhaps she’d had her work shanghaied by other colleagues before.