“Doesn’t seem like you’re struggling.” I remarked.

“Perhaps not like that. But as far as sympathy and sensitivity, I’ve been told I can come off rather…”

“Harsh?”

“Thanks.” He frowned. “But, yes.”

“You are harsh.”

“I don’t intend to be.” He defended.

“I don’t think you do, I just think you’re incredibly direct and most people don’t know how to take that.”

“I suppose not.” He grumbled. Walking away. He rounded the kitchen bar. “You hungry?”

Starving.

“No.” I said slowly. “I’m okay.”

My stomach gave a drawn-out growl in objection. The mere idea of food making it holler. I tried to recall what I’d eaten earlier today and realized I hadn’t.

It’s been a weird day.

He leaned across the counter. Propping his chin on his palm to give me a pointed green-eyed stare.

“Fine.” I conceded. “I’m hungry.”

***

“I noticed.” He straightened. The hint of amusement tingeing his tone. He washed his hands in the sink and moved to find a pan.

“There’s one in the box here.” I lifted it out and handed it to him. It was a white non-stick with blue flowers on the outside.

He took it and set it on the stove. Turning a dial until it clicked and burnt to life. He slapped a bit of gourmet butter from a tub on the counter, which instantly filled the air with garlic.

He pulled a few steaks from the fridge and cut open the wrapper. Setting them atop a four-legged wood cutting board. Seasoning them and straightening them out.

He grabbed a spoon from the drawer and moved to stir the butter.

“No!” I cried out.

Making him pause long enough I could run around the high counter and snatch the silver spoon from his hand, while he stared at me astounded.

“You can’t use that!”

“Why?” He gave me a startled look. Inspecting it. “It’s perfectly fine.”

“Not in a non-stick pan!”

“Jesus.” He muttered. Staring down at me. “You’d have thought I just nearly stabbed a puppy.”

“Don’t you know anything about non-stick?”

Giving me a skeptical look, he pulled open the bottom drawer of his stove open to reveal a thick cast iron pan.

“That’s what you use?”

He pushed the broiler closed and stood up. “Yeah…”

“How utilitarian.” I said dryly.

“Why does it not sound like a compliment, when you say it?”

I blinked at him. “Clearly you’re going to need help.”

“If you insist.” He stepped back to welcome me to the stove.

I grabbed a plastic spoon from the box and began stirring the butter.

He was in and out of the fridge a few times. Collecting some leafy green herbs. Chopping them into fine bits. He reached around me, his breath along the side of my neck and his chest brushing my shoulder blades as he reached around me to flake them into the pan in the butter.

I half-expected he might reach around and palm my stomach to pull me against him. Surprisingly, he did not.

Awful comfortable with contact though.

I recalled how many times he’d reached around me like that to retrieve files off the shelf.

When I’d only seen him as the safest employee in Chase & Walker, I’d thought nothing of it. Assuming he was trying to get the folder and go about his business.

Now I wasn’t so sure.

Everything I thought I knew about him was wrong.

He retrieved the steaks and laid them in the pan, arranging them with enough space they could each sizzle in the butter mixture.

The sweet, creamy scent of melting butter and sauteeing onions reached my senses.

He must’ve had a bit of onion with the green herbs.

It was a deeply lovely scent just now.

I couldn’t recall the last time I’d had a good steak. I rarely went out and I had very little time to prepare myself a proper steak.

It smells divine.

I hadn’t even known I yearned for one until just now.

“You cook?” I don’t know why I felt the need to ask the obvious. I supposed because it was just one more thing about him that surprised me.

“Nope. Winging it.”

Clearly not.

I gave him a dirty look.

He met it defiantly. A slight smirk turning his lips.

“Very funny.”

He turned and opened a container of leafy greens, putting them in a bowl and using a spritz of lemon over it. He chopped some cherry tomatoes in half and dumped them over it and diced some strawberries to toss in before lining another layer of lemon juice.

Lemon, tomato, and strawberry?

Those didn’t seem like flavors that would compliment each other.

He caught me eyeing it skeptically.

“Here.” He pinched a bit and lifted it over my face. “Try it.”

I turned up my face and opened my mouth.

He set the fingerful in and I was pleased with the explosion of flavor that brightened over my tongue.

Delicious.

“Mmm.” I gave him a surprised look.

He chuckled. Mixing it with his hands.

“If you let me in there.” He nodded to between the stove and I. “I’ll baste those steaks.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, so I rolled aside, leaning against the counter as I watched him work. His wide biceps. Flexing beneath the rolled sleeve of his shirt. Giving me the sense that if he were able to get ahold of you, he could crush you.

Trying not to think about that I considered a few things to converse about. But the same thing kept coming to the forefront of my mind.

“Can I ask you something?” I queried after a moment.

“You can ask.” He didn’t look over at me.

The rest of that response was… ‘Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.’

“You said you missed the presence of a woman?

“Yeah.” He bobbed his head. Spooning butter over the steaks.

“Who?”

“Former fiancé.” He said as if making a grand announcement. I said the next word with him. “Suze.”