It wasn't some grand scheme to get along. I could care less about that. I just needed to know what she was doing and ensure that everything would be executed to my specifications. Surely, Aspen didn't really want this job. She'd be off to the next thing sooner rather than later. I just needed to contain her for now. I could head off any issues before they exploded in my face.
I needed to keep her close so that I could ensure everything was handled correctly.
Why I was spending so much time figuring out what to cook in the meat aisle of the grocery store was confusing? It didn't matter what I made. I was cooking a meal for Aspen. The younger sister of my friends. The girl who'd turned into a woman. Not that it mattered.
She was still irritating.
She'd hate that I saw her that way. But I had to, or I'd think about all the ways she'd grown up to be a beautiful woman. One who her brothers would not want me thinking about.
No matter what my intentions were, if they found out about our dinner, they'd have more than a few choice words for me. There would probably be a few well-placed fists involved, and I'd deserve it. I knew the risks, but I couldn't see another way to keep her in line.
She was flighty, and I was steady.
I moved from the meat to the seafood, and my gaze landed on the fish options. I'd add a little lemon garlic pasta, and we'd be good to go. Maybe a nice chunky bread to dip in olive oil.
What was I thinking? This wasn't a date. I wasn't trying to impress a woman. Even if I was, she'd conclude that I was emotionless, just like my last girlfriend had, and would want nothing to do with me.
That stung, but this wasn't a date. So what Aspen Sterling thought about me didn't matter. Not in the slightest. With that vow, I grabbed everything I needed for dinner, including a bottle of wine. Aspen seemed like a woman who enjoyed a glass of wine with dinner.
I ignored that voice in my head that said this wasn't a date. I was cooking dinner for a woman, and I always treated a woman right, even if I wasn't in touch with my emotions. On the way home, I stopped by a florist and bought a bouquet.
Then I argued with myself all the way home about whether I should give it to her when she arrived or put it in a vase and pretend it was ambiance for the dinner table.
By the time I pulled into my driveway, there was tension between my shoulders and a headache forming at the base of my skull. Aspen was more trouble than she was worth.
I'd never had to work this hard to convince myself that something wasn't a date. This was a business arrangement. We shouldn't be drinking wine or smelling flower petals.
Determined to set the tone right, I put the flowers in a vase my mom had given me when I moved in, filling it with water and the flower food the worker at the store had insisted it needed. Then I arranged the stems so that the flowers looked nice.
Except I wasn't even sure how to do that. I finally gave up and moved toward the stove to cook.
I texted the address to Aspen, then wondered if I should add a see you soon message. I decided against it because this wasn't a date. This was a business dinner to get to know each other better. We'd be working together. Nothing more. It was better to be short with her.
One glass of wine wouldn't lead to another. Besides, what woman spent time around me and didn't conclude that I was made of stone, incapable of being the kind of man they needed? Someone who expressed their feelings and was empathetic to whatever was going on in their lives.
Instead, I was focused on work and building the business that would sustain me and my family for a long time. I didn't have time to flirt with my best friends and business partners' sister. That would be a mistake. One I wasn't willing to make.
I seasoned the fish and slid it into the oven. As I heated water in a pot for the pasta, I couldn't help but think that I'd screwed up already. When I was a teenager and I realized that Aspen wasn't so little anymore, I knew I had to put those feelings in a box.
It was vital that I kept her in her role as my friends' younger sister. I repeated the purpose of the evening in my head as I straightened the first floor of the house. I could at least prove to her that I was a good guy. One who could cook and clean. It might have been a bachelor pad, but I didn't have to meet every stereotype she had of the perpetually single man.
Then I berated myself again for acting like I had to impress her. She wasn't a woman I was interested in.
My ex's opinion was fresh in my mind. Tess didn't think I was capable of feelings, or that I ever would be. I thought I'd left my past where it belonged, but unfortunately it had left scars. Big ones.
When the doorbell rang, I was just pulling the fish from the oven. I set the casserole dish on top of the stove and went to answer the door.
When I opened the door, Aspen stood on the porch wearing a dress and a cardigan. She looked sweet and appealing. I wanted to push that cardigan off her shoulders and touch her bare skin. I'd shift those spaghetti straps off her arms and see how plump her breasts were.
I felt hot all over, and I swayed on my feet.
Concern flashed through Aspen's gaze. "Are you okay?"
I waved a dismissive hand. "The kitchen is warm."
She glided past me into my foyer, a bakery box clutched in her hands. She shoved it in my direction. "For dessert."
"You didn't have to bring anything over. It's just dinner between business associates." I'd practiced that line for an hour, and she winced at my curtness.