Spooning Leads to Forking (Hot in the Kitchen #2) - Kilby Blades Page 0,2

didn’t want had her clear on what she did. The plan was her roadmap to get all of that and more.

Step one was reprogramming: breaking bad habits, getting his voice out of her head, building new muscle memory that reminded her she was autonomous and free, navigating the mundanities of life organically rather than orbiting him—remembering she was a grown-ass woman who could do whatever the hell she pleased.

Today’s “whatever the hell she pleased” would involve driving into town to get her morning bun from Delilah’s and taking another crack at her script. Then, she’d see a matinee of the new action flick a second time at the Grand Lake. She would smuggle in a flask of red wine, eat too much buttered popcorn and maybe some of those little ice cream bites. But none of that before she hit The Freshery. Sure, she’d pick up a few things to stock her cupboards if it would make her seem less creepy about her real purpose: to get an eyeful of the hot grocer.

That related to step two: Shea wanted to feel like a woman again, even if dating was out of the question. Getting too close to anyone ran the risk that she’d reveal too much about who she was. But she needed something just a little sweet and sinful to tide her over until things could be different. It didn’t seem like a terrible idea to dip her toes in by flirting a little.

She plucked her keys off of the kitchen counter, walked to the staircase next to the front hall and descended to the garage. The living spaces, office and bedrooms were all on the ground floor. An enormous rec room, a guest bedroom, utility rooms and a three-car garage were below. Passing the hidden-away bedroom that sat empty and waiting reminded her she needed to move the money.

Shea didn’t know trucks, but Kendrick kept a pristine one in the garage. It was off to one side and Shea’s own vehicle straddled the two spaces in the middle. Also in the spirit of “whatever the hell she pleased,” Shea had bought herself her first new car. She’d dreamt of owning a crimson Mustang since she was sixteen.

Just as Shea didn’t think she would ever get tired of the clean, Colorado air, she knew she would never get tired of the deep, reverberating growl of her engine. Twelve years in New York had done nothing to cure her of her love for the road. At first the Town Cars and limos and even the yellow taxis had felt exotic. But “whatever the hell she pleased” had already begun to involve long drives around Grand Lake and through the mountains with Lucille. Because of course Shea had named her car.

The drive down the hill was pleasant, a meandering descent to the valley, through forests of evergreens and aspen trees down to Sapling proper. Even the wooden bridge that crossed high over Elk River had a certain beauty. You could see on its legs how high the water rose after the snow melt, but it flowed like a creek at this late stage of summer.

The road she came in on became halting with stop signs as soon as she reached downtown. Her eyes scanned for a parking spot after the turn on to Oliver Street. The Freshery stood on that first block in a building that had been spruced up—the same old-western style of architecture shared by the other buildings on the street, only newer and in better repair.

Act natural, Shea instructed herself after she’d parked, slammed shut her car door and taken measured steps toward the entrance. People go to the market every day in a lot of cultures.

Only, Shea doubted that most people who went to the market every day cared so much about looking cute. She liked looking put together, regardless of where she was going, but hoping to see him made it different.

“Oh, hey, Dev,” she said breezily, casting him a slightly lingering smile after grabbing a cart from near the front of the door. He was almost always near the front behind a computer at the customer service desk. Stevie Wonder songs floated over the sound system whenever he was working. The large, semicircular area was on a raised platform that reminded her of an open DJ booth. It sat adjacent to the leftmost register.

Weekend mornings aside, the place stayed pretty dead. It wasn’t uncommon for her and Dev to be the only ones in the