I smirked as I sliced into an onion. “Only the ones who smell like cinnamon muffins and temptation.”
That earned me a full smile. I filed it away like a win.
The radio was still tuned to some local station, playing a soft indie track with scratchy vocals and melancholy guitar that made the room feel smaller in the best way. I turned the volume up just a little. The music was enough to fill the silence without trying to erase it.
I moved around her kitchen with practiced ease—boiling water, tossing vegetables in a hot pan, coaxing flavor out of garlic and butter.
Selene watched from the stool by the island, a glass of red wine cradled in her hands. I hadn’t asked. I’d just poured it and handed it to her, fingers brushing hers in the exchange, reveling in the fact that she didn’t pull away.
I swallowed hard as something tugged in my brain. “Can I ask you something ... about Winnie?”
Selene blinked at me, but nodded.
“You and Brian were married, right? But Winnie has your last name. How did that come about?”
A smile twitched on her lips. “About a year ago I decided I wanted to go back to my maiden name, Darling. Winnie liked it too. Brian didn’t fight me on it ... and that was part of the problem. He never fought for anything, including me.”
My throat was thick even though Selene scoffed like what she’d shared wasn’t a huge fucking deal. I couldn’t imagine a world where a man wouldn’t claw his way to the ends of the earth for those two.
“So,” Selene continued, “when we changed our last names, she talked me into a new middle name too. Winifred ElizabethAmaryllisDarling because?—”
“Amaryllis means sparkle,” I finished with a laugh. “I know, she told me.” I shook my head as I continued to pull ingredients for dinner. “That kid is something else.”
“That she is.” Selene’s laugh was soft and melodic. Then she hummed along to the radio and watched me work. “Do you do this often?” she finally asked, voice low, a little rough around the edges.
“Cook for beautiful women in their kitchens?” I glanced over my shoulder, just in time to catch the flush rising in her cheeks. “Not nearly as often as I’d like.”
She rolled her eyes, but her lips curved. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m a delight,” I corrected, grabbing two plates from the cupboard. “Please, tell your friends.”
She scoffed. “I don’t have time for friends. My friends are my sisters—and they have to love me.”
“You’ve got time for dinner,” I said. “That’s a start.”
Dinner was simple—pasta tossed with garlic, blistered tomatoes, and hunks of salty Parmesan that melted into the heat of the noodles. We ate at the table, knees brushing, shoulders leaning closer than necessary. Selene twirled her fork slowly, the bite held midair as we talked about nothing in particular—old teachers, worst meals ever cooked, the way her daughter insisted every weed was a flower that needed some love.
Selene’s laughter came easier with each sip of wine, and I savored the sound like it was something I could pocket for later. She moaned around one bite—an honest, delighted sound that made my cock twitch—and I nearly dropped my fork. She didn’t even notice, just grinned and went back for more.
When we finished, Selene looked down into her wine like it might have answers for her as I walked our dishes to the sink. The glass caught the light as she tilted it, just enough to let a drop roll off the edge and catch on her bottom lip.
My brain short-circuited.
Her tongue flicked out to catch it, and I swear I forgot what I was doing. My hand tightened around the spatula.
Every muscle in my body went tight with restraint. “Selene.”
Her eyes lifted, slow and curious. “Hmm?”
“Come here.” My voice was low and demanding.
She blinked, still holding the glass, then slid off the chair and crossed the kitchen floor. She stopped a foot in front of me, close enough to feel her body heat. Close enough to feel her breath when it caught in her throat.
I reached out and brushed my thumb beneath her bottom lip. Her skin was warm and soft.
“That drop of wine,” I murmured. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t pull back.
