Hero at Large by Janet Evanovich

days.”
    He seemed undaunted. “Hmmm,” he replied and emptied sixteen ounces of peas into a small saucepan. He smiled at her. “I surmise by the look of horror on your face that I’m cooking too many peas too.”
    â€œI usually measure out about half and then tie the rest of the bag up with a twister tie.”
    â€œTwister tie?”
    Chris wrinkled her nose. “This isn’t going to work. I don’t need a cook. I think your aptitude is dubious, anyway.”
    â€œBoy, you get cranky after a hard day at the skating rink,” he teased. He pushed her into the dining room and held her chair.
    Chris looked at the table. Matching mauve linen tablecloth and napkins. Crystal goblets. The good china. Sterling candlestick holders and ivory tapers. Freshly polished silverware. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble. It’s very pretty.”
    â€œActually, Aunt Edna did it. She wanted me to make a good impression on you.”
    â€œHmmm.”
    â€œShe likes me.”
    â€œShe’s not too choosy, you realize. Last weekshe fixed me up with the meter reader. And before that it was the butcher.”
    â€œWhy is she so determined to get you married?”
    â€œI suppose because she had a wonderful marriage, and she wants the same for me.”
    Ken leaned against the table and studied Chris. “Wouldn’t you like a wonderful marriage?”
    â€œI’ve already tried marriage. It wasn’t wonderful.”
    â€œBut it could be. Don’t you want to give it another shot?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œEdna told me you were a great skater because you never gave up.”
    â€œI never gave up on skating because I knew I was good. I’m not good at being married.” Chris turned away from the intensity of his blue-black gaze. Why was he doing this—it wasn’t like he was ready to propose or something.
    â€œI think you’d make a great wife. You just need some practice.”
    â€œUh-huh.” Chris turned back toward him, one eyebrow raised quizzically.
    â€œI could help you out…” He grinned. “You could practice on me.”
    â€œThat’s a very generous offer, but I think I’ll pass.” The sound of sputtering water turning tosteam hissed from the kitchen. “The peas”—Chris gestured—“turn down the heat.”
    A lid clanked in the kitchen. Silence followed. “Okay,” he finally called, “I give up. How the hell do you get these peas out of all this water?”
    Endearing, Chris thought. Ruggedly masculine but soft on the underside. And very skillful at using his devastating smile and easy humor. She took the copper colander from the kitchen wall and placed it in the sink. “You can pour the peas in here. And then you can use the colander to drain and rinse the noodles.”
    He gave a light husbandly kiss. “Thanks. Any other cooking tips I should know?”
    â€œAre you really serious about this?”
    â€œAbsolutely.” He put the peas in the glass bowl Edna had left on the counter for him. He poured the steaming noodles into the colander and ran water over them. “How am I doing?”
    Chris gave him a begrudging smile. He was doing fine with the noodles, and he was doing fine with his assignment of making a good impression. Ken was a man who knew how to drop back and punt. They carried the food into the dining room and took places opposite each other.
    Ken looked at Edna’s chicken with reverent admiration.
    â€œI’m not sure I’ve ever seen a man look at a piece of chicken like that.”
    â€œI can’t remember the last time I had home cooking. It seems like I’ve been on the road for a century.” He put a pat of butter on his noodles and watched it melt. “My mother is a great cook—she makes these noodles in a cheese sauce…” He looked up at her with beguiling blue eyes. “Do you know how to do