Head Over Heels

Part 9

Nicci's bedroom looked like a tornado had gone through it. Clothes were everywhere. She was sure that she had tried on everything and some things twice. She had tried on everything in and between sexy, tight, flirty, girly, and conservative, but considering she didn't know what look she was going for nothing she tried on made her happy. She was just eyeing a black lace Peplum top and her cream pencil skirt when the doorbell rang. She debated on whether to make him wait or answer the door in her university sweatshirt and black yoga pants. Not making him wait won out, and she was tripping down the stairs thinking about how she would greet him, her tart response was lost when she opened the door and instead she said, "What the hell?"

"Usually people say hello when opening the door." He said through gritted teeth. He was precariously balancing what looked like a large strawberry tart and an overstuffed grocery bag in one hand, and an equally overstuffed grocery tote on the other hand that was also enclosed around a dozen calla lilies. Since he was still wearing the same clothes he had on earlier, Nicci was thoroughly confused.

"I thought we were supposed to be going out. As in you taking me out to dinner." She didn't move still processing what she saw.

"I never said that we were going out out, I said I would provide you with dinner. So I am here to do just that." His voice carried a note of impatience. "Now please move out of the way before I drop these bags on your doorstep, and possibly your foot." He took a step forward and Nicci was forced to move out of his way unless she wanted to be runover.

"Why so many groceries? Why groceries at all? Couldn't you have ordered take out?" Nicci peppered him with the questions as he stalked toward her kitchen, and she followed behind.

"Are you always like this? Maybe you picked the wrong career?" He started to unload the groceries on her countertops.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Nicci put her hand on her hip, this date was off to an interesting start. She knew that she was partly to blame, but she pushed that thought away. It really was his fault for changing the plans she had made in her own head.

"I thought the meaning would be obvious. You ask a lot of damn questions. As much as you don't like my profession, you would be a great reporter." He grinned at her as he'd started going through her cabinets looking for supplies.

"I don't dislike your profession, I just don't like when reporters ask questions that they promised not to." She leaned on the doorframe of her kitchen.

"Let's clear something up. I never promised to not ask about his divorce, my colleague did. And he left me out of the loop when I took over the conference for him."

"Oh," Nicci had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed, but only somewhat. "It's not like I knew that, and anyway you were told that those questions about his personal life would not be answered."

"You do know what my job is right? I have to be persistent, your job was to hold it together and protect your client. But I had to keep asking the questions because your camp's reaction let me know that my questions were hitting a nerve. You don't see me getting upset about you throwing the shoe right? So why do you keep hounding the fact that I did my job." He turned to face her. "And if you must know, the angrier you got, the more beautiful you were."

"Oh." She gaped in astonishment and then snapped her mouth shut.

"Oh? Is that all you have to say, oh?" Yeats crossed his muscled arms against his equally muscled chest and leaned one of his trim hips against her counter. "Let me lay something out for you, then you might have more to say than 'oh'." Nicci took a step back, and Yeats followed her punctuating each step with a statement.

"First, I thought you were mesmerizing when you threw the shoe at me, your eyes were shooting fire, and the anger radiated off of you in waves. All I saw was passion." Step.

"Second, I thought I was very fortunate to see you at the cooking class, and I thought that surely God was smiling down on me when you left behind your wallet." Step.

"Third, I could have cared less about the interview-"

"Really?" Nicci interrupted.

"Yes, really," step, "The agent who took over your client has been calling my phone consistently trying to schedule an interview."

"What?!?!" Was that why Jean was sidestepping me, that heifer.

"You really have to stop interrupting me, or I'll never get my point across." He paused his stalking.

"But, you –"

"I know," Step, "but what other excuse did I have for coming around? That day when you said that we had to stop what I consider a very enjoyable experience. I got angry-"

"Understatement." She muttered.

Step. "I got angry because you were right. I wasn't treating 'us' like I should have been. So I decided to do things the right way."

"By coming over my house to cook?" She was trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, but he'd just given her so much to process and think about.

"Well, that is just a bonus. I saw what your dish looked like and it was a culinary travesty of epic proportions, what made it worse was the fact that I could see you were trying your best. I don't agree with the teacher that you are hopeless, so for purely altruistic reasons I am here to help you." Step and he grinned.

"Your philanthropic intentions are noted, but a cooking lesson is not what I was expecting."

"To be honest neither was I. I was racking my brain trying to think of something that we could do that was different and here you have it." He took the two steps that had him only a few inches away from her. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "so if you don't mind I'm ready to start your real cooking lesson."

"Alright." Nicci knew that she sounded breathless or sappy or easy, but she didn't care one bit. Having him near felt good and right, and the more time they spent together the more she felt herself getting over ... herself.