“No food allergies. Well, I’m not especially fond of wasabi,” he said.

“Wasabi?”

“One of my college roommates loved the stuff and put it on everything.” He shuddered a little, and she had to smile. “Other than that, I’m easy.” She watched him rinse fresh spinach like he’d been doing it his entire life and add it to the salad bowl she’d put out for him. “And this is plenty of food.”

“Do you enjoy cooking?”

“Sometimes. I’m more of a fan of eating, but my mom insisted that I learn to make the basics before she turned me loose.” He crossed the kitchen to her refrigerator and said, “Mind if I look in here for salad stuff?”

“That would be great,” she said.

He opened the door, pulled out ingredients, and stacked them on the kitchen island.

“Let’s see here,” he said, grabbing a chopping knife out of the block. “I’ll put some sliced mushrooms and some other stuff in here, and I can cut up some avocado just before we’re ready to eat. How about a few more raspberries?”

“Of course.” She handed him the container from the refrigerator. “What else do you know how to make?”

He put the knife down to grin at her. “Meatloaf, spaghetti, toasted cheese sandwiches, and my dad taught me how to grill a steak. I’m also excellent at takeout.” She had to laugh at that. “I have a chef five days a week during the season, but the rest of the time, I’m on my own.”

“You have a chef?” It wasn’t unheard of among league veterans, but she was still a little surprised.

“Let’s just say he takes care of the nutritional stuff I need while I’m playing,” he said. “I go to the practice facility to eat too.”

“What’s the last thing you cooked for yourself?”

He chuckled a little. “Does heating up pizza count? A couple of my teammates dropped by the other night and brought me some.”

“Did they invite themselves over?”

“There was a little conversation earlier in the day about them visiting, but I . . . I got a better offer. They would have ditched me for coffee with a beautiful and interesting woman.”

It wasn’t the first time in her life a man had called her beautiful, but his sweet, almost shy delivery of the word made her heart skip a beat. Maybe she should keep things light.

“Does that happen a lot? The blowing them off part, or the getting a better offer part?” she teased.

His cornflower-blue eyes held hers. “Nope. It doesn’t.” He took a deep breath. “I hope you don’t think I’m in the habit of routinely ditching my friends. They tend to drop in often. We didn’t have anything formal going, so I walked to the bookstore to get a little exercise. I thought I’d listen to the biographer guy for a few minutes before I went home. Then I met you.” He let that hang in the air for thirty seconds or so.

If a six foot four inch, 250-pound man could be called “adorable,” Drew was it. He was a fascinating combination of warrior and Boy Scout. She’d seen his game tapes more than once. He’d beat his opponents on the football field to a bloody pulp and walk out of the stadium minutes afterward to tenderly help some little old lady across the street.

She wanted him so much. Too bad she couldn’t have him. She’d make the most of tonight, and then she’d throw herself into her work to forget him.

DREW FELT LIKE he was walking barefoot through a minefield. The pull he felt when she was near was almost irresistible. She was lovely, funny, smart, interesting—all the things he’d wished for in a woman and more. He wanted to find out more about her. She was determined to advance in a cut-throat industry and excel at a high-powered job, which meant the last thing she’d want to do with her time was have enough babies to fill up his huge house and have dinner on the table when he walked through the door each evening.

He realized his expectations were ridiculous. It wasn’t that he thought the woman of his dreams should spend her days polishing his Pee-Wee football trophies. He wasn’t too much of a he-man to throw in a load of laundry or do the vacuuming. It took two to make a house a home. And yet, he really wanted someone who wanted a family and a home like the one he grew up in. He pictured a bunch of blond-haired kids filling up the silence in his big house with laughter and fun, a big dog cuddled up with all of them in the evenings while they watched TV or read or played games together. He saw Easters and Thanksgivings and Christmas mornings in his mind’s eye. He’d like to spend his weekends at his children’s soccer or T-ball games and have his and his wife’s friends over for a little barbecuing or a beer on Saturday nights.

He also realized he was probably looking in the wrong places for the wife of his dreams. Women who wanted to focus on their families didn’t hang out in a corporate boardroom or the front office of a pro football franchise. Maybe he should try going to church or something to meet a potential mate. He wasn’t especially religious, and he was fairly sure his long hair would get him tagged as a “troublemaker” or worse in a big hurry, though. The imaginary women he might meet in the future paled in comparison to the one he was talking with right now.

Kendall led him to her small backyard again. He spied a five-gallon bucket next to her sliding glass door with trowels, shears, and some well-worn gardening gloves he hadn’t noticed previously.

“You must enjoy gardening,” he said.

“I do,” she said, gesturing toward a small patch of flowers. “It’s not much, but it’s relaxing. There was nothing but dirt back here when I bought my house. I wanted to make something I’d enjoy seeing when I was doing the dishes.”

“My mom did the same thing at our house. She talked my dad into putting in one of those gardening windows so she could grow herbs in the kitchen.” He smiled at the memory. “She was so proud of herself when she could use the herbs she grew in family meals.”

“Speaking of meals, our scouting department was considering sending you a year’s worth of Kringle and brats as an enticement.” Racine, Wisconsin, was the home of Kringle—a butter-laden, multi-layered filled pastry as world-famous as New Orleans’ King Cake or the cheesecake of New York City.

“I love brats, especially when they’re marinated in beer and grilled. I’m also pretty fond of Kringle. Maybe you could come over and help me eat them.”

He saw her lips curve into a smile. “I might take you up on the Kringle. I had some the last time we were in Green Bay. It’s delicious.” The sun was setting, and she sat down on a glider in a small patch of shade. “Didn’t you want to play for Green Bay?”

He sat down next to her, close enough to hold her hand. She didn’t resist.

“I was drafted by Minnesota,” he said.

“You could have asked for a trade.”

“Yes, I could have, but I was happy there, and after the Sharks made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, I’ve been happy there too.”

“Do you miss your family?”

“Does a bear poop in the woods?” He laughed as he said it. “Yeah, I miss them. I go home for a few weeks when the season’s over each year, and they come and visit me when they can’t take the ice and snow anymore.” He watched the setting sun turn her pale skin to gold. “Is your family in the area?”

“You might say that. My parents are in Southern California. My brother and sister and their families live on the East Coast.”

“It must be tough at the holidays.”

“We all meet up at my parents’ house for a week.” He was a little surprised she didn’t seem like she wanted to elaborate. He’d like to know something about her family. In the meantime, he wanted to keep the conversation light.

“Well, that sounds fun. I usually have Christmas these days with some of the guys. It’s too hard for my family to all get out to the Seattle area.”

“What do you all do instead?”

“Zach Anderson and his wife, Cameron, invited us all over last year for Christmas lunch. We had to play three days before and she had to work, so we paid the chef that cooks for several of the guys during the season a little extra to make the holiday feast.”