“I just wanted to taste test it. Check it for poisons.” He grins like a scolded child who isn’t particularly sorry. “I was protecting your life.”
“Uh huh.” I roll my eyes. When they come to rest on Nate, he ducks his head quickly.
Not quick enough that I don’t notice the telltale movement of his jaw, though.
“Nathaniel Xavier Knox — did you steal a piece of my chicken?” I hiss.
He shakes his head. “Absolutely not,” he says, voice muffled by the chicken still in his mouth.
I throw a dishtowel at him. “Get out of my kitchen! The both of you!”
Nate’s head comes up and my breath catches at the look on his face. There’s a playful light in his eyes that I’ve missed, these past few years — missed so much it sends an ache of longing shooting through my chest. When he leans a few inches closer, mouth twitching in amusement, and asks, “Oh?Yourkitchen?” it’s all I can do to remain upright.
I fight a blush. “For the next ten minutes, yes. It’s mine. I’m claiming it.”
Something changes in his eyes when I say that. Something so intense I’m too scared to define it, so I turn back to the stove and stir the pasta.
“Parker, come taste this,” I order, fishing a strand of spaghetti out of the water and handing it to him. “Done?”
He chews for a few seconds, swallows, then nods. “Yep.”
“Are you just saying that because you’re hungry?”
His grin twitches wider. “Thirty more seconds. Then it’ll be done.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Admit it, though.” He slings an arm around my shoulders. “You’ve missed the hell outta me.”
I smile. I’ll never admit it…
But he’s absolutely right.
Chapter Nineteen
There’s a time and a place for stiletto heels.
Always and on my feet.
Phoebe West, justifying her fashion choices.
“Damn, Sweet P. That was incredible. I could be convinced to move back to the States, if you’d promise to cook for me every night.” Parker pushes back his barstool, hands on his stomach. He’s had two helpings and practically licked his plate clean.
“If you want to keep those washboard abs, you better not,” Nate says, shoving another bite of chicken into his mouth and letting out a small sound of pleasure.
I swirl pasta strands around the tines of my fork so I have something to do other than watch Nate’s mouth move.
God, I even think he’s hot while chewing.
There is something seriously wrong with me.
“Believe me, this isn’t an every day occurrence. I don’t cook very often.” I hop off my stool, grab Parker’s empty plate, and stack it on top of my own. When Boo barks at me, I shoot him a look. “No chicken piccata for you, demon-dog. Eat your kibble.”
He glares at me before going back to his food bowl.
“That was seriously the best meal I’ve had in about ten years.” Parker belches.
“Cute.” I roll my eyes at him as I move to the sink.