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‘Saw your headlights. Coming in?’
‘Mmm.’ Suddenly, for no reason at all, anticipation was a sweet ache in her chest, a flutter in her breathing. She held her vacuum jug of soup tightly and followed him inside.
The cabin was open-plan and modern with the lounge area and kitchen melded into one living space. ‘Oh, good,’ Emma said lightly. ‘You’ve got the fire going.’
‘Glass of wine?’ Declan offered as they moved across the timber floor to the kitchen. ‘I have a nice local red.’
‘OK, thanks.’ Emma placed her soup on the counter top. ‘You should be comfortable here.’
Declan didn’t comment. Instead, he took up the wine he’d left breathing and poured two glasses. He handed one to Emma, unable to stop himself gazing at her with an intensity that made his heart stall for a second and then pick up speed. She was wearing jeans that clung to her legs and outlined a pert little backside. Her top was a frilly button-up shirt, the neckline open just enough to expose a hint of cleavage. Her hair had a just-washed, just-brushed shine about it and when their gazes met and she smiled at him he felt a jolt to every one of his senses. Hell. How was he going to get through the evening without wanting to…?
‘What?’ Emma raised a quick brow.
He shrugged, breaking eye contact quickly. ‘I guess we should drink to the future of our partnership.’
Emma’s mind went blank. They seemed to have travelled half a lifetime in a few days. Even this morning, she’d woken with a start, wondering whether she’d dreamed it all—that she actually had a partner for the practice, someone to rely on, to confer with—to trust. ‘I guess we should.’ She gave a tinny laugh to disguise the sudden attack of nerves. Lifting her glass to his, she echoed, ‘To our partnership.’
‘What kind of soup did you bring?’ Declan cringed at the banality of his conversation. But his brain felt like shredded cheese.
‘Minestrone.’
‘A meal in itself.’ He sent her a crooked grin. ‘I put some herb bread in the oven to warm when I knew you were bringing soup.’
Emma savoured another mouthful of the full-bodied wine. ‘You know about food, then?’
He lifted a shoulder modestly. ‘I went along to the farmers’ market this morning. I thought I might have seen you there.’
Emma blinked rapidly. ‘I used to go when I had time to cook.’
‘The produce is amazing,’ Declan said, indicating they should take their wine through to the lounge area. ‘I couldn’t stop buying stuff.’
Emma chuckled. ‘And I’ll bet the stall-holders couldn’t wait to sell you stuff._ The whole town will know who you are by now.’
‘They will?’ He looked startled.
‘And that you’re living here and fending for yourself.’
He groaned. ‘It won’t be daily casseroles at the surgery, will it?’
‘Not just casseroles.’ Emma sent him an innocent wide-eyed look and curled herself into the big squishy armchair. ‘There’ll possibly be apple pies as well. Bendemere will want you to feel at home here.’
‘I think I’m beginning to already.’ He’d taken his place on the sofa opposite her. ‘By the way, I released young Ashleigh this afternoon.’
‘Any problems?’
He was about to ask if she’d expected any. Except he’d seen the flash of worry in her eyes. ‘None at all,’ he elaborated. ‘And I have Aaron and Renee coming in for a chat tomorrow.’
Emma felt a flood of relief. If he’d already got on first name terms with the Maines, then he must have at least listened to her concerns and trod softly. ‘They’re not bad parents. They’re just—’
‘Young?’ Declan gave a rueful smile. ‘I’ll be gentle with them, Emma, but I promise I’ll get through to them, whatever it takes.’
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