Take It Off the Menu: A sizzling, accidentally married rom com! (Mile High Matched, Book 3) (A Mile High Matched Novel)

by Christina Hovland

  He didn’t buy it. He gave her a look that, he hoped, broadcasted just that.

  “There’s a King Soopers just around the corner.” Marlee moved to let Lothario back into the house. “We can hit that for supplies. And I am over Scotty.” Her voice cracked a little at the end. She cleared her throat.

  He leveled a you’re-full-of-it stare at her.

  “Fine. It’s a work in progress.” She tilted her head to the side, daring him to question her any further.

  He wouldn’t, because unlike her ex, he wasn’t a dick about things.

  Lothario trotted beside her to the front door. “Are you driving or am I?”

  “I’ll drive.” He already had the keys to his Jeep Cherokee in his hand.

  “Perfect.” She turned the door handle and pulled it open. Lothario began to follow her outside.

  Eli scratched at his ear in confusion. “Mar, you’re you, and I know you can convince people to look away from most anything”—it was part of that talent she held that drew people to her—“but even you can’t bring a dog into the grocery store.”

  He wasn’t besties with the health inspector, but he knew the rules—no pets.

  Marlee rolled her eyes. “Lothario goes where I go.” She pulled a red vest from her purse and Velcro’d it around the mutt. “He’s my medical alert dog.”

  Eli had seen a lot of things. He’d never in his life seen a medical alert vest on a chihuahua. He shook the dust bunnies that seemed to settle in his ears.

  She wasn’t serious. No way was she serious.

  “A medical alert dog?” he questioned.

  “Well, he’s not just pretty.” She smiled down at the pup. “Although, he is definitely a pretty doggie.”

  Lothario puffed up at the compliment.

  “Are you just making this up?” he asked. Marlee was one of those people who could convince a man to pay an extra ten dollars for a bottle of water when he wasn’t even thirsty.

  “Of course not. I have asthma, he lets me know if I’m about to have an attack.” She made kissy faces at Lothario. “Don’t you?”

  Eli wasn’t buying it. She was screwing with him. “Does it work?”

  “Yeah, he does his job really well.” Marlee clipped a leash onto Lothario’s collar and stood. “He’s trained to tell me if I start wheezing.”

  Eli wasn’t mistaken. She was definitely screwing with him. “You don’t notice if you’re wheezing?”

  “Not when I’m asleep.”

  Then Scotty didn’t notice she was wheezing? The guy was losing punches left and right on his fiancé card.

  One thing though. Eli held up an index finger. “So you can train the dog to alert you when you can’t breathe, but you can’t get him to stop defiling shoes?”

  “It’s only your shoes,” Marlee said like it wasn’t a big deal. “He also likes Scotty’s shirts.” She took a deep breath. “And pretty much anything that moves. Especially bicycles… Hence the leg. That’s a touchy subject, though, so we don’t talk about it around him.”

  Of course, because Lothario was a super smart wheezing-detection device. One wouldn’t want to offend him.

  “A bicycle? And it was moving?” Eli raised his eyebrows in her direction. His own dick retreated into his boxers at the idea.

  Not that he hadn’t noticed the cast on the little dude’s leg. He’d just assumed it had come from getting caught on the wrong side of a pair of Sketchers. Not the rubber on a bicycle tire.

  “But he won’t do that when his vest is on. He knows he’s working now,” Marlee assured, setting Lothario beside her. He stood at attention as if illustrating her point.

  Eli, and his shoes, didn’t buy the innocent act of the chihuahua.

  “Why don’t you leave his vest on all the time then?” That’s what Eli would do—out of respect for his shoes, sweaters, and non-motorized transportation, if nothing else.

  “He deserves a break sometimes.” Marlee opened the door and headed outside. “No one wants to work all the time. You understand that.”

  Of course, he did. Eli could use a break, too, come to think of it. “He’ll only tell you if you’re wheezing when he’s wearing the shirt thing?”

  “That’d be ridiculous. He’ll always tell me, but he knows he has to behave like a professional when he’s in uniform.”

  “How much does one of these dogs cost?” Eli asked, pulling the door shut behind them.

  She lifted a shoulder. “Not much, around sixty.”

  Sixty? The gears in Eli’s mind cranked.

  He stared at her blankly. “Sixty thousand?”

  Yeah, definitely, the ridiculous part of the dog was that he only stopped defiling things when he wore his vest—not the fact she’d dropped enough on him to buy a new car.

  “Training is expensive.” There was that duh voice again. “Are we grabbing stuff for breakfast or what?”

  Definitely grabbing stuff for breakfast. And apparently, taking along the dog.

  Chapter Three

  Marlee had spent many Saturday mornings with Eli and Sadie and their family. She was very familiar with teenaged Eli’s pancake-making skills, and over the years, he’d clearly honed them further.

  After a quick trip to the market, Eli had all they needed to make breakfast. Her bedroom was nearly all boxed up, and she was now being fed by the man Denver’s 5280 magazine called “the most up-and-coming chef of his generation.”

  Except he was making her help.

  And Marlee didn’t cook.

  Like, at all.

  She preferred to use the telephone to call for takeout. The kitchen at the townhouse was more for show than function. Her interior decorator had never really understood that. She totally earned her commission, though, because the flinger thing Marlee found in the drawer was really cute. The handle had adorable yellow sunflowers—Marlee’s favorite.

  “Mar?” Eli asked.

  She glanced toward him and raised her eyebrows. “Yeah?”

  He pointedly moved his gaze to the skillet in front of her. The bubbles on the pancake burst through the batter, starting at the edge and moving toward the center.

  “On it.” She focused. Waiting.

  Eli’s instructions were to wait until the batter bubbled in the center and then she should flip it. That was way easier said than done. So far, she’d burned two batches by not flipping quickly enough and she’d flopped batter everywhere once. He’d said she flipped too soon. Clearly, by the batter splatters all over the stovetop. Meanwhile, he cracked eggs into a pan and fried up bacon like it was the easiest thing in the world.

  She happened to know it wasn’t. He had tried to teach her to cook eggs and bacon first, but there had been shells in her scrambled eggs and the whole batch had stuck to the non-stick coating. The bacon wasn’t quite done when she’d pulled it off the burner. Apparently, bacon was not like steak where rare was a good thing.

  Eli slipped behind her, close enough that it felt really nice.

  She stilled. What was she supposed to do with his proximity? The bridal etiquette books said nothing about jilted brides and the appropriate amount of time before they could find comfort in another man’s presence. Was this one of the stages of a breakup? She had no idea, but two hours likely wasn’t long enough. She was barely single. The ink on her not-a-divorce wasn’t even dry.

  This was ridiculous. Eli watching from behind was fine. He wasn’t touching her or anything. She turned her attention to the pancake.

  His fingers curled around hers on the spatula.

  Well, hell. Her heart beating faster and all the little nerve endings in her skin perking up only happened because Scotty hadn’t really touched her in weeks. Not since he’d moved downstairs.

  “Now,” Eli said into the air around her earlobe. It felt intimate and right when it was absolutely wrong.

  He used her hand to slip the yellow flinger part of the spatula under the batter. Her shoulders hunched, her chin dipped, and Eli was all about control of the flipping
.

  “It’s all in the wrist,” he continued on like he wasn’t turning her into a puddle of pancake batter that Lothario would have to lick off the floor. “Relax your wrist.”

  She gave relaxing her wrist her best effort. With Eli’s help, they flipped the golden-brown, perfect pancake.

  “I did it.” She turned around and froze.

  Their hands still held the spatula and the pancake continued to cook behind her, but Eli was right there. Right in her space. And he was cooking for her. And teaching her how to cook. And her stomach was fluttering. And her bottom lip felt full. And he had the smallest splatter of batter on his cheek from when she’d flipped and then flopped before.

  She wiped the batter off with the edge of her thumb.

  He stepped back, clearly startled.

  “Sorry.” She held up her hand. The one with the batter splatter.

  He massaged his jaw with his palm and fingertips, apparently testing for additional splatterage.

  “I got it all,” Marlee assured him.

  “Uh.” Eli handed over the spatula, an odd expression on his face. “Pancake’s done.”

  “Yeah.” Marlee moved the pancake to a plate, only creating the tiniest of rips in the process. “I did it.” She waved the flinging part of the spatula, whacking Eli in the nose. “Oh my gosh.” She dropped the spatula. It hit the tile with a clank.

  Eli held his nose. “I’m fine. Just an accident.”

  Marlee bent to grab the utensil, ready to crawl into the empty pantry and pretend to search for…whatever else went into making breakfast. She grabbed the spatula and stood, bonking her head right on the oven handle. “Ow.”

  She rubbed at the spot, the kitchen tilting a little.

  Eli steadied her, his hands on either side of her shoulders. “Maybe you should eat something. Before you give one of us a concussion.”

  “Yeah.” She pressed the sensitive spot at the top of her skull.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.” Her eyes met his, and darn it all, he really looked concerned. Which was nice. Nice to have someone look concerned. No one ever looked concerned about her. Not really. Not lately. The day was not a good one, for sure, but Eli was there for her—so little wins for the win.

  “Grab a drink, go sit, and I’ll get you a plate.” Eli was already adding the slightly torn pancake to a plate and moving to the eggs. He handed it over, but she set it aside.

  She hugged him. She couldn’t help it. “Thank you.”

  Then something happened. Eli Howard hugged her back. And it wasn’t because she was crying and jilted, it wasn’t because she’d hit her head. Eli Howard hugged her back and she had no idea why, other than the fact that he was just a nice guy. “Anytime, Mar.”

  “Leelee?” Scotty called from the foyer.

  Was it her imagination or did Eli pull her tighter for just a split second?

  “Leelee?” Scotty’s voice went a teensy bit higher. He’d apparently made it to the kitchen.

  She pulled away from Eli and turned to face her ex. Her ex who looked like he was ready to bite Eli’s head off like a torn-up pancake.

  Little wins were just not going to cut it today. She couldn’t open her lips to respond.

  “Wow, you have company.” Scotty opened his eyes bigger in Marlee’s general direction. She knew his mannerisms, knew he wasn’t jazzed that Eli was making himself at home in their kitchen. Wasn’t happy that she’d splattered batter everywhere. Scotty liked his space to be a calm oasis.

  Well, whatever.

  “I didn’t realize you were having friends over.” He shifted his gaze toward her group of friends shuffling into the kitchen from the stairs.

  “They’re my friends, so…” She forked a bite of pancake and shoved it in her mouth.

  He focused on her and only her, like he used to long ago. Long before they’d gotten so comfortable with each other. Dated. Fallen in love. Planned a wedding.

  “I’ll get my bag and get out of here,” he said only to her.

  He was getting his bag? She choked on the soft cake. A little kernel of hope grew in her chest that she wouldn’t have to be the one to leave after all.

  “You’re moving out?” That would be fantastic. Her Gucci collection was so much happier with tons of breathing room in her walk-in closet instead of crammed together in a box. “That’s great that you’re leaving. I mean, not great that you’re leaving.” She took a breath. “It’s great that you’re being reasonable about this and letting me have the house.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  No one else said anything.

  “You are leaving, right?”

  “Maybe we should do this where there’s not an audience,” he said in response to her question, as though that were actually an answer.

  “I think an audience is great.” Eli crossed his arms, sunflower-yellow spatula in hand. If anyone could pull off that look, he could. “Witnesses and all that.”

  Marlee may not have been on her A-game all morning. Heck, she hadn’t even been on her D-game. But the way Eli held the spatula right then made her feel like she’d had mimosas with the pancakes instead of coffee. She was nearly positive that one could not get drunk off one bite of Eli’s pancakes.

  “You’re moving out then?” Marlee asked again, the hope of before eroding away.

  Scotty deeply exhaled through his nose. “I figured I’d take off for a little bit. We’ll both get our bearings before any more big decisions are made.”

  Decisions like who got the house?

  Eli made a noise that sounded like a half growl.

  “You mean you don’t want to be in town when people start calling,” Marlee confirmed. He would leave that to her. Of course, he would. She’d always handled things like that.

  Scotty pinched the bridge of his nose. “I figured I’d give you some space. I know this”—he gestured between them and to her friends—“wasn’t expected.”

  “So…not moving out.” You didn’t live with someone for a decade and not know how they handled things. Scotty wouldn’t move out. Scotty would continue to rely on her parents. Scotty wouldn’t understand that there was something wrong with that.

  “Of course, I’m not moving, this is my home. We went over this earlier on the patio.”

  “Where are you goin’?” Eli asked like that was the most important question. “Is it a trip?”

  “Yeah, Scotty, where are you going?” Kellie moved in to flank Marlee on the right. Sadie was on her left. Becca right behind. And Eli? A vein in his forehead pulsed in a way that probably wasn’t super healthy.

  “We’re all so curious,” Becca said over a mouthful of bacon. Scotty hated it when people talked with their mouth full. Total pet peeve.

  “Leelee.” Scotty tilted his head toward his office-turned-bedroom. “A minute.”

  “Don’t do it, Marlee.” Sadie linked her arm with Marlee’s. “He can say, right here, where he’s going.”

  Scotty looked between all of them and then at Lothario, who currently ignored him and, instead, eyeballed Eli’s shoe. “Your parents offered me their condo in St. Lucia.”

  Another knife pierced her heart. “You mean the one where we were going to spend our honeymoon?”

  He pinched his lips together. “It’s not like that.”

  “That’s a little cliché, Scotty.” Becca had swallowed the bacon. “Even for you.”

  Scotty opened his mouth to reply. Then he shut it without a word coming out.

  “By ‘offered,’ you mean you asked them if you could stay there?” It wasn’t like Marlee didn’t know how Scotty worked. And she knew her parents even better. Scotty had gone to their place, told them he’d broken it off, and asked if he could use their condo. They’d said yes, so he’d grabbed a venti caramel latte from Starbucks, drank it on the café patio, and then returned home in time for the impromptu pancake party.

  “Leelee, I know you’re upset, but this isn’t supposed to—”
/>   “I think you should probably go,” Eli said before Scotty could get the rest out.

  “Who are you?” Scotty asked, his forehead scrunching. “Exactly?”

  Eli stalked toward him, spatula at the ready. “I’m the caterer. We met when you picked out hand salads and carrot tarts.”

  Marlee could tell the instant Scotty remembered. He’d been a bit of a pill the day they’d picked out the hors d'oeuvres. Marlee had insisted he come along, take some part in the wedding planning. He hadn’t wanted to. She’d assumed he just preferred his time on the golf course, but she was now pretty sure it was because he had known the wedding wouldn’t happen.

  “And you’re here because…?” Scotty asked, drawing out the last word.

  “Because I invited him.” Marlee stepped forward. “And you’re being rude, so you should go.” Her words came out breathier than she wanted them to.

  Lothario let out a bark.

  “This isn’t how I wanted us to be.” Scotty backed up, palms toward Marlee. “I’ll just grab my suitcase and get out of here.”

  His suitcase. His suitcase for their honeymoon. Their honeymoon to start their marriage. Their marriage that would have existed because he’d proposed. He’d proposed because he loved her more. She didn’t move, only vaguely aware that her friends were all there, Scotty was there, and Lothario was barking his little head off.

  His alert bark. It took only a moment for her to realize she had been holding her breath. No, not holding it. Her chest had gone tight. A vise around her lungs and throat. She wasn’t pulling air like she should. Her exhale sounded like her esophagus had sprung a leak.

  Dammit.

  She tried harder to pull a breath.

  “Marlee?” Sadie shook her. “Where’s your inhaler?”

  Lothario was going bananas.

  She pushed against her chest.

  “The cabinet with the plates,” she tried to say.

  The closest inhaler was in the cabinet. She struggled to say it again, but Scotty grabbed the red tube and held it to Marlee’s lips like he’d done a thousand times before. She inhaled at the exact moment he pressed the cannister, an orchestrated dance she’d have to start doing on her own. She grabbed the container from him, gripping it tight in her palm. “I’ve got it.”