Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
My stomach growls reminding me it’s time to plate this meal and get to it. I scrub a hand over my chin looking at my watch.
Eighteen-twelve.
“Alright,” I mutter, pushing away from the counter. “Enough standing around like an idiot.”
I plate my serving, the quiet clink of fork against ceramic oddly loud in the otherwise still cabin.
And then—lights in the windows, tires on gravel.
Slow. Hesitant. Not the aggressive skid of a stranger or the bold roll of someone confident. This was someone comfortable but in no rush.
My pulse kicks up.
Her car eases to a stop outside. I don’t rush to the door. That’s not what this is. When she doesn’t make her way inside after a few moments, I go to the door. Looking out, I see her gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping her in place. If she lets go she’s going to float away to outer space or something.
Seeing her like this, something in me softens in a way I don’t like to analyze. I move down the porch to the car.
She looks up.
Our eyes meet.
And I smirk. I can’t help it.
She rolls her eyes the tension easing and her lips twitch like she is fighting a smile.
She steps out carefully, her hair falls in a soft wave around her face. She wears simple jeans, a fitted sweater, and dainty shoes that Honey calls ballet slippers. I open her car door, extend my hand. She puts her palm in mine and electricity shoots through me in a way I haven’t felt in years. With her hand in mine, I shut her car door and lead us back inside the cabin.
“You came,” I say letting her see my surprise, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Well,” she murmurs, glancing toward the stove. “Someone promised dinner.”
“I did didn’t I,” My voice drops. “Or maybe it was someone else.”
She gives a small, breathy huff. “You know you did. It smells amazing.”
“A man’s got to eat, no need to do it alone. Food’s hot. Let’s get to it.”
She hesitates for only a second—just long enough for me to catch the nerves flickering in her eyes—before walking past me to the stove.
“You cook?” She questions studying the stove top.
“I don’t starve,” I remark casually, brushing past her to get to my plate on the other side of the stove.
But she doesn’t move. Her gaze follows me like she can’t look away.
“You’re comfortable in here,” she admires softly, almost to herself.
“Why wouldn’t I be? Men gotta eat too. I’m not gonna keep these abs eating a bunch of fast food garbage.”
“I don’t know.” Her voice dips. “It’s not a man thing. I’ve never seen someone move in a kitchen like it’s second nature.”
“Marine Corps, I was a cook. You would be amazed at how creative one can get to make chow hall food feel and taste like a home cooked meal.”
Her eyes go wide at my admission. Is she impressed? If so she has her bar set very low. I try not to read into it.
“Sit,” I instruct gently.
She does, sliding onto one of the stools at the counter as I plate her dinner—two chops, golden potatoes, asparagus, and gravy I spoon carefully so it cascades over everything.
When I set the plate in front of her, she stares at it like it is some kind of art.
“Tony, this looks amazing.”
“Good. Eat.”
She takes a bite. Then another. Then closes her eyes, letting out a sound so soft and surprised it shoots right through me to my damn cock. Watching her eat and enjoy every mouthful is a turn on.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “This is incredible.”
Heat prickles low in my stomach. I turn away, grabbing my own plate to hide the reaction.
We eat in comfortable silence for a minute, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire and the quiet clink of silverware.
“You really didn’t have to do this,” she adds eventually.
“Didn’t do it because I had to.”
She pauses, fork suspended halfway to her mouth. “Then why? You don’t know me and you don’t owe me a meal.”
I meet her gaze. Steady. Direct.
“Well, the way I see it, I gotta eat, you gotta eat. We can eat together. You deserve a warm meal. And because I wanted to share my time with someone.”
She looks down immediately, cheeks coloring.
She doesn’t speak again until half her plate was gone. “Tony?”
“Yeah.”
“About last night…”
I wait not sure where she’s going with this.
She swallows. “You kissed me.”
“You needed an out,” I answer evenly. “That guy was unstable. You were uncomfortable. I created a distraction.”
She studies me trying to read me. Hate to tell her that’s impossible. “That wasn’t a distraction kiss.”
No. It sure as hell wasn’t.
I scoop another bite of potatoes onto my fork. “You complaining?”
“No!” Her eyes widen. “No, I just— I mean you didn’t have to do that.”