I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering just long enough to feel her shiver. My heart gives a strange little flip, an ache wrapped in something tender and new. Part of me knows I should turn down the boiling water before it spills over, but another part doesn’t want to move. Not when her warmth is pressed against me. Not when she’s looking at me like that.
“I did see some very nice wooden fire truck ornaments. What are they for? You have a side gig I don’t know about?”
I chuckle. “Last year I was working in the garage, and my small grinder ignited dust and set off the fire alarm. The next thing I knew, sirens were sounding and the fire department arrived. Then a few weeks later, I ran into Owen, one of the firefighters. He was visiting a young patient, and we got to talking. Now we’re friends and I make ornaments for their department.”
“You are something else, Jaxon.”
The pot hisses behind her, and she glances over her shoulder. I give her a playful tap on the hip, knowing I have to break the moment, even though I don’t want to. “Why don’t you sit, sip your wine, and let me give you another surprise?”
Her brow arches, lips curving. “Another one?”
“Food,” I clarify quickly, grinning. “What did you think I meant?”
She laughs, tilting her chin in that teasing way that kills me. “That’s what I thought you meant.”
Laughing and feeling lighter, I turn back to the stove, drop the pasta into the bubbling water, and set the timer. Steam curls upward, carrying the scent of salt and heat and everything I don’t say out loud.
“I feel like I should be doing something,” she murmurs.
“You are,” I tell her, glancing over my shoulder. “You’re drinking your wine. That’s your only job.”
She sips, eyes dancing. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
I chuckle. “Not even close.”
“I’ll warn you now,” she says, smirking. “I’m already a sure thing.”
That does me in. I brace my hands on the counter and lean toward her, closing the space between us until the air tightens. My voice drops low. “Babe, I want you relaxed, not drunk, because I want you to remember everything I do to you.”
She swallows, a slow, visible movement that makes my pulse stutter. Her lips part. “Relaxing,” she mumbles, taking another sip just to steady herself.
I grin, slow and sure, watching her over the rim of my glass. “That’s my girl.”
I turn back to the stove, the sauce bubbling softly. “So, do you do any other kinds of woodworking?”
I glance over my shoulder. She takes a sip of wine, watching me over the rim of her glass. “Yeah, I make beds and nightstands sometimes. Mostly for family or friends. It started as a hobby, something to do in the off-season. There’s just something grounding about it, you know? Using your hands to make something solid. Permanent.”
“Wow. You’re kind of impressive, you know that?”
“Actually, I do.”
I can’t help it, I laugh, and she does too, shaking her head. “Hockey players and their egos,” she teases. “Okay, tell me this. What’s your superstition? Do you wear the same socks or underwear all season?” Before I can even answer, she laughs again. “Wait. Don’t tell me, you still knock three times on the boards before stepping onto the ice. I remember that from high school.”
I turn, surprised. “You saw that?”
She gives me a pointed look. “Reporter, remember? Not much gets by me.”
“Except the ornaments,” I remind her with a grin.
She lifts a shoulder, pretending to look offended. “Yeah, okay, fair. So what other secrets are you keeping from me? You don’t have a secret family somewhere, do you?”
“Nope. No secret family,” I say, stirring the sauce and turning down the heat. “Still knock three times before I skate out though.” She nods approvingly, and I add casually, “Oh, and I also have full-blown conversations with one of Aunt Elaine’s feral ferrets. You know who Aunt Elaine is, right?”
“Yeah, Penn’s aunt. A little eccentric, but lovable.”
“Right.”
She blinks once. Twice. “You… talk to her feral ferret?”