“I’ll make it work.” Ally flounced back to the stove. Noting that the dark liquid had come to a rolling boil, she grabbed an oven mitt and removed the pot from the flame.
“You may want to-”
Ally cut him off with a withering look and plucked a mug from the cupboard. Lips set stubbornly, she told him, “I think I know how to pour a cup of coffee.”
“I’m sure you do.” That wasn’t the point. But if she insisted on doing things her own way…
Ally filled the mug, then topped it off liberally with milk from the fridge. She lifted it to her mouth.
He watched her take a sip, pause, then walk back to the sink, where it took everything she had, he supposed, for her to swallow instead of spit.
Hank carried the pot to the sink and set it down on a folded towel. Now that she was listening, he said, “The secret to making it this way is to let it steep for a good four minutes or so after boiling.”
“Really,” Ally echoed dryly, dumping the contents of her mug down the drain.
He met her gaze. “Really.”
She set her cup down with a thud and pivoted toward him. “And how would you know that?”
“Experience.” Hank studied her right back. “I made campfire coffee over an open flame all the time when I was in the service. Not too many espresso makers where I was.”
“What did you do in the marines?” she asked curiously.
“Flew choppers involved in rescue missions.”
“That sounds…dangerous.”
And fulfilling in a way that countered the loss he had suffered…
But not wanting to talk about Jo-anne, or the years he’d struggled with residual grief and guilt over his fiancée’s death, he filled a cup with icy tap water and finished his tutorial. “Once the coffee has steeped, you add three or four tablespoons of cold water to the pot.”
Ally wrinked her nose in confusion and disbelief. “To cool it off?”
He shook his head as he demonstrated the technique. “This settles the grounds to the bottom. And voilà! Now it’s ready to drink.”
She sniffed and tossed her head. “I can’t imagine those two things make that much of a difference.”
On impulse, Hank reached out to tuck a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
Her eyes flashed. “You’re beginning to sound all Christmasy again,” she accused.
He lifted his shoulders affably. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
She was right-he wasn’t. He liked teasing her, liked seeing the color pour into her cheeks, and the fire of temper glimmer in her dark green eyes. He poured her a fresh mug, got the milk out again. “Give this a try.”
She made a face, but eventually took both from him. With a great deal of attitude, she lightened her coffee, took a sip. Paused to savor the taste on her tongue. Astounded, she met his eyes. “That is better,” she announced in surprise.
At last, he had done something right. Hank lifted a hand. “What’d I tell you?”
Ally beamed. “I could kiss you for this!” She flushed again, as common sense reigned. “But I won’t,” she rushed to assure him.
Hank nodded, aware that he was already hard, had been since she’d walked into the room. “Best you not,” he agreed.
Ally’s cell phone let out a soft chime. She withdrew it from her pocket, looked at the screen. Immediately sobering, she informed him, “I have to take this.” She put it to her ear and walked away.
But not far enough that he couldn’t hear some of what she was saying.
“…Calm down, Porter. It’s not like we didn’t know this was going to happen. We have no choice. Stay busy. You’re usually big on Christmas! Go see the boat parade on Clear Lake, or The Nutcracker or Handel’s Messiah… I promise I’ll call you if I hear anything at all. Yes! Okay. Bye.”
She walked back in to retrieve her coffee.
“Everything okay?”
For a moment, Hank thought Ally wouldn’t answer.
Her slender shoulders slumped dispiritedly. “All the middle managers from my firm were ordered to take the next two weeks off, so that the executives in the firm that took us over can decide who goes and who stays.” She met his eyes and admitted almost too casually. “The general idea is to keep the same number of clients and financial analysts and advisors while cutting costs…and that means a number of the higher salary employees-like myself-are going to be laid off.”
“I’m guessing Porter is a middle manager, too.”
Ally grimaced. “He started the same time I did, right out of college. We’ve worked our way up together. He’s going to be absolutely devastated if he is let go.”
As would Ally, Hank thought.
He studied her crestfallen expression. “Do you think you’re going to make the cut?”
She shrugged. Her expression became emotionally charged. “If life were fair,” she stated, “I would. But…” she swallowed, her expression suddenly remote “…you and I both know it’s not.”
“Hence, the immediate sale of the property,” Hank guessed.
Ally shrugged again. “It needs to be done, in any case. Right now I’ve got the time to get the property listed. After December 26, I may not.”
“Because you’ll either be very busy with the reorg at work…” He refreshed both their coffees.
“Or pounding the pavement, looking for another job.” She added a little more milk to hers. “Obviously, Porter and I both hope it’s the former, not the latter.”
Hank felt an unexpected twinge of jealousy. Realizing he was more interested in Ally than he’d thought, he stepped closer and asked, “Are you dating Porter?”
She looked surprised, then bemused by the question. “Uh…no. We’re just friends.”
Hank was relieved to hear that. Yet…he still had to ask. “Are you romantically involved with anyone?”
She rolled her eyes as if the mere notion was ridiculous. “I don’t have time for that. But what about you?” she asked curiously. “Has there been anyone since that girl you were engaged to when you graduated from college?”
Hank shook his head.
Ally walked over to test the wallpaper. She found it rigidly adhered to the wall in some places, practically falling off in others. She deposited a strip of paper in the trash, then knelt to examine the linoleum floor. The speckled yellow-green-and-brown surface was clean, but very dated and extremely ugly. “What happened to the two of you, anyway?” She ran her palm thoughtfully over the worn surface.
Hank lounged against the counter. “Jo-anne was killed in a terrorist attack overseas.”
Ally stood to face him again. “I’m sorry,” she said, genuinely contrite. “I didn’t know.” She paused and wet her lips. “Is that why…?”
Hank guessed where this was going. “I joined the marines? Yeah.”
Another silence fell, more intimate yet. “And since…?” Ally prodded softly, searching his eyes as if wanting to understand him as much as he suddenly wanted to understand her.
“I’ve dated,” he admitted gruffly. He shrugged and took another long draft of strong coffee. “Nothing…no one’s… come close to what I had with Jo-anne.” He turned and rummaged through the fridge, looking for something to eat. He emerged with a handful of green grapes. “What about you?” He offered her some.
Ally took several. “I was engaged a few years ago, before my mother got sick.”
This was news. Hank watched Ally munch on a grape. “What happened?”
“I brought my fiancé home to the ranch. Dexter was a real city boy and I expected him to share my lack of attachment to the place. Instead, he fell in love with Mesquite Ridge and thought we should both quit our jobs in Houston and settle here permanently.”
Hank polished off the rest of the grapes in his palm. “Your mom and dad must have liked that.”