Burned

“I’m perfectly capable of cooking my own meals and cleaning my home.” She shrugged. She had been raised to do for herself, and cleaning gave her something to do, a way to occupy her hands when her body was filled with restless energy.

He straightened from the doorframe, walking to the table with a casual male grace that threatened to take her breath. She turned quickly from him, moving to the cabinet to retrieve her coffee cup. She fought to still her shaking hands, the nervousness in her stomach that wouldn’t seem to go away. She felt immature, like a quaking child before him. It was…unbalancing.

“What if you became busy? Or found a lover?” he asked her then.

Ella fought back her panic. She felt aged, past the time when she could have worried about the future, or a man in her life.

“I’m not looking for a lover, James.” She poured her coffee, moving with what she hoped was casual unconcern to the work isle in the center of the room.

She leaned her hip against it, lowering her head as