“Whatever you cooked smells amazing.” Trapper greeted Noelle with wags and wiggles as soon as she entered the kitchen. The neatly set table, complete with matching pottery, stainless steel, and crystal, touched her heart. Ethan had centered the bowl of pinecones she collected from the yard in the middle of the table and placed a cream-colored candle in the middle.

“What's this?”

Ethan shrugged. “Since you're stuck here, it's the least I could do for your birthday.”

Knowing he willingly worked so hard to make her birthday special spread warm appreciation limb to limb.

Ethan lifted a wooden spatula from the simmering skillet. “Want a taste?”

He lifted the rice mixture higher, allowing the steam to swirl into the air before aiming for her mouth.

Their eyes met. His breath caressed her skin with soft strokes. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth to receive his gift. “Oh, my. What a unique flavor.”

The spice reminds me of you.

“The first time I tasted the dish, I was in love.”

“Me too.” The idea slipped so casually into her mind, but she wasn’t talking about the meal.

Love? Holy crap. Was she really in love with him?

Yes, her heart responded.

The feeling couldn’t be love...could it? The desire to lean in for a kiss was real. It had to be her rebound brain leading her astray. Disillusioned lovers hopped from the frying pan into the fire all the time. Jumping in bed with the first guy after a breakup, decent or not, was nuts. She didn’t want to get involved with anyone, and sex made her brain believe crazy, wonky things.

She had things to do.

A career to get off the ground.

Yet there was something about him that filled her to the brim. Nooo. She couldn’t think like that. She wasn't his type. He wasn’t available. She took a step back to let the magic fade.

With the thread broken, Ethan picked up the wooden spatula to stir the thick mixture. “Pilau is an African rice dish spiced with a little bit of cumin, black pepper, cinnamon, cardamom, and just a touch of cloves. I like to add meat, carrots, and raisins to the basmati rice, although it's not traditional.”

Act normal. Breathe. “Whatever you put in that stuff is amazing.” She pushed her shoulders back, pretending he hadn’t caused her heart to flutter. “Thank you for cooking dinner, and setting the table, and for making my day special.” She sat on one of the counter stools to watch him cook, even though she should be thinking of ways to avoid him. If she allowed herself to get invested in a relationship with him, he would change her life.

Yet she had plans.

She couldn’t get distracted or deviate from fulfilling her dream.

Look where trusting got me.

While she enjoyed the instant connection of family and friends, she wanted more.

Yet here, in the kitchen, he looked like the savory dish he was preparing, spicy, hot, and yummy.

“Did you work on your songs this afternoon?” Ethan pulled two wineglasses from the cabinet and poured her a glass of red.

“I tried, but nothing seems to be working. I used to be able to bang out a song in an hour. The past few months, I haven’t been able to tap into my well of creativity.”

“Does it have anything to do with your former manager?”

“I don’t think so. I’d have plenty of material for breakup and stupid-girl songs. I feel so dumb. Months ago, Jon started staying at work late. The excuse seemed plausible. I was busy. He was busy. I didn't notice his absence. When several of my friends saw him at a bar with different women, he easily explained the sightings away. He told me it was a business meeting, and I believed him. Or at least I wanted to believe him. Trust is so fragile.”

“Was he dating someone else?”

She took a long draw of the wine. The dark red fruits tantalized her taste buds and quickly slid down her throat, leaving a lingering tang. The alcohol seeped into her pores and soothed the ache of deception.

“Several someones, actually. I learned his office couch was used quite often.”

“Ouch.”

“Exactly.” She took another sip of wine to clear out threatening tears. “The pathetic part was I believed him when he said he wouldn't do it again—that I was his one and only—that he'd made a mistake.”

“There are guys like that.” His tone was even, nonjudgmental, kind.

“Please tell me you don't condone such behavior.”

“I don’t understand that type of behavior, but I can't judge someone else, because I wasn’t the type of man I should have been for my family.”

“I'm sure you were doing important work.”

“Yes, I was saving lives, but shutting out the rest of the world in favor of my career isn’t a good excuse. If I could get a do-over, my family would be the priority.”

The self-loathing in his tone about ripped her heart out. She wanted to reach out and touch him, take away the pain, but instinctively shied away from the dangers. She’d give and give and give, and he wouldn’t be able to give back.

His hurt and pain tossed her about like a stormy ocean. She needed to grab onto something—anything—positive. A change of direction was warranted. “What was Tanzania like?”

“Hot.” Ethan’s laugh was crisp, short, but there was an underlying sense of pleasure she hadn’t heard before. “The culture is rich. There are a bunch of ethnic groups, and everyone speaks a different language. People rely on the land. Living there can’t be compared to anything here.” The lightheartedness faded. “The poverty makes you want to give everything you have. Especially when kids line the side of the road crying because they don’t have enough to eat.”

“I bet it was hard.”

“Hard?” He shook his head. “More like inspiring. A good majority of people in the US have clean water and access to food and medicines, while more than half the population in Tanzania lives below the poverty level. And yet they work the land, and their culture is strong.”

“What was it like living there?”

“Crowded.”

“But, I thought…”

“You thought lions, zebras, and giraffes, and miles of space, oh my.” His eyes lit, accompanied by a cute little smile. “No, we lived in Mwanza in the Lake Zone. It’s a big, crowded city where a lot of the research is done for malaria and AIDS.” The gratification returned. “Nature’s beauty at its best. To me, Tanzania is one of the most beautiful places in the world.”

“Would you go back?”

“To work? No. To visit. Definitely. This time, I’d hike and fish and do a little exploring.” He laughed. “I’d go on one of those tourist safaris.”

“You say you loved the culture, the people, but there is nothing in this house, no paintings, little carvings, pictures, to remind you of your time there.”

He pulled the skillet off the burner and shoveled the rice mixture onto the plates. “Ready to eat?”

She slid off the high back chair. “There I go again. Putting my foot in my mouth.”

“You didn’t.” He collected the plates. “Since it’s your birthday, let’s eat in the nook this time,” he added, and carried the food to a small, round oak table by the large picture window just off the kitchen.

“You’re being polite, but I did. I get curious and poke inappropriately into peoples’ lives.”

“Your question was legitimate and insightful. Most of the stuff I brought back was given to me by patients and friends. There’s a hand carved mask that’s quite impressive. Then there’s my daughter’s soda can lizard. It was made from recycled material and given to Callie by a nurse at the hospital.” He sighed a laugh. “I should have my mom ship me my ostrich boots. Everything is stored in South Carolina.”

“South Carolina. Why there?”

“It’s where my parents live. My dad still hopes I’ll take an attending position in one of the research hospitals there.” Which will never happen.

“Why didn’t you go home?”

I didn’t want to be suffocated. “I became a doctor because my dad pushed us kids into what he considered worthy professions. After meeting Brigitte, I realized that even though I graduated top of my class, and had my choice of places to take up residency, I didn't have the passion, not like some of the doctors, who wanted nothing more than to dedicate their life’s work to solving a single problem. I realized working in a large hospital with the sole purpose of making a name for myself was my father's dream, not mine.”

“I've got the opposite problem. My mother never wanted me to go into the music business. She'd rather I was a waitress or a hairstylist, but I always wanted to sing.”

“It could be she's just afraid for you. Singing is a tough way to make a living.” His expression narrowed, became contemplative. “Maybe that's why my dad wanted us to be doctors, lawyers, and bankers. The jobs pay well.”

“There is something to be said for putting food on the table.” She slipped another bite of splendor into her mouth. “This is so good. Will you teach me how to make it?”

“I'll try. I’ve never been good with recipes. I tend to toss what I like into a pan and hope for the best.”

“You sound like my mom. If she doesn’t like the ingredients in a recipe, she changes them.”

“Tradition is the only thing that matters in my family. My mom would never dream of altering a recipe. Every ingredient is measured with precision. My Nan always said perfection couldn’t be improved upon.”

“You don’t talk about your family much.”

“No, I guess I don’t.”

Disappointment eased into her chest, and she reached for her wineglass. Asking pointed questions and shutting down conversations had become her specialty. “So…what’s your favorite sports team?”

His whole being perked up, and she silently laughed at her witty change of subject.

She didn’t care what his sports team was, only that he kept talking, opening up. Living. The conversation meandered from sports to politics to world events, and back to Elkridge and how much he liked it here.

He scooped the last of his meal and put it in his mouth, then drained his wineglass. “Ready for pie?”

“Sure. I’ll clear the table.” She reached for his plate just as he stood, their faces passing within inches of each other. His smell tickled her senses, and her soul whispered yum. She leaned in and absorbed the scent.

He closed the distance and his lips pressed against hers. Her flash of surprise quickly settled into an ooh-la-la tingle. His mouth was warm, demanding, yet reserved. The sweet sensation made her toes curl. She almost whimpered when he pulled back.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” He straightened, his face going pale.

“Maybe not, but it was a beautiful gift.”

His blush got an even brighter red. “Gift?”

“It’s my birthday, remember?”

The plate she was holding disappeared from her hand.

“If you think that was your birthday gift,” he studied her mouth, “I’d better make sure your actual present is more memorable.”

Her skin warmed when he placed a hand on the small of her back. He pulled her closer. His mouth lowered to hers. He paused and hovered just above her lips. “Are you ready?”

She should have stepped back, made an excuse, but all her brain could process was: ready.

His mouth consumed hers. His tongue outlined her lips, teasing, pleasing, tempting her to open to him. When she couldn't resist anymore, her lips parted. Instantly his tongue sought hers. A tango of emotion. Back and forth. Dips and swirls. She pressed in. He made a sensual noise, then pulled back.

Her head dropped to his chest. “Holy crap.”

“Did you like your present?”

“If I say yes, will you still kiss me again?”

His shoulders shook and chest bounced with a laugh. “Do you want to be kissed again?”

Yes!

Her limbs buzzed.

Her cheeks tingled.

The wine. It had to be the alcohol making her so reckless.

“Um, I better say no. I don't make good decisions after I've had a glass of wine.”

“Gotcha.”

The heat switched off, and he grabbed the serving dish like nothing had happened.

Had she been dreaming? The way he leaned in, searching, playing...he felt something. She was positive he did.

“Hey, I was going to load the dishwasher,” she objected.

He lifted the scrub brush from the back of the sink. “That’s okay. I need to keep my hands occupied and off you.”

“So it wasn't just me who felt it.”

Ethan looked down at the tent in his pants. “Isn't it obvious?”

“Now you’ve pointed out the facts,” she snickered. She took two steps closer and lifted her hand, but he backed out of her reach.

“I don't think we should complicate things.” He held the scrub brush in front of him like a sword. “I mean…I'm staying here, and you're leaving for LA.”

She placed her wineglass on the counter. “In that case, I think it’s best if I finish my book. I was just getting to the good part.”

“What about pie? I have vanilla bean ice cream, too.”

“Pie’s always good for breakfast.” She hoped her disappointment wasn’t posted on her emotional billboard. She enjoyed his company and would have liked to hear more about his travels, but more talking would lead to more kissing, and he didn’t want more. Even though she did.

“Good night, then, and happy birthday.”

“Thanks for the meal and my gift.” She leaned down to pet Trapper. “See you in the morning, old man, and no getting into your stocking. I have a surprise for you.”

Trapper lifted his head and lapped at her chin. She didn’t look back while she made her way to the stairs.

She had to be careful. Staying with Ethan under the same roof after a kiss that curled her toes wouldn't be easy. But she was strong, just like the people of Tanzania. She'd make the roommate situation work until she got enough money to head for LA.

Although she wished she could find a way to reciprocate his gift. The tender, needy, memorable kiss would stay with her, and be the one against which all future kisses would be measured.