"Hey! I make excellent microwave ramen." I move closer to peer into the pan. "What's in this?"
"Steak with salt and pepper, some butter, then garlic and rosemary from the garden."
I nudge him with my shoulder. "Show-off."
He chuckles, flipping the steak. "You can set the table if you want."
I bustle around, placing mismatched bowls and spoons on the small wooden table. As I pass behind him, I can't resist wrapping my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against his back.
"This is nice," I say, inhaling his scent.
He covers my hands with one of his, squeezing gently. "Yeah. It is."
A crash from the living room makes me jump, but Wyatt only sighs.
He shakes his head and continues cooking the steak. "Cain and Abel at it again."
I peek around the corner to see the two cats—one orange, one gray—locked in what appears to be a wrestling match on the floor, knocking into a side table.
"Hey!" I call sharply, hands on my hips. "That's enough! We don't fight in this household."
To my surprise, both cats freeze mid-fight, turning to look at me with wide eyes. The orange one—Cain—has his paw raised to swat his brother, but slowly lowers it under my glare.
"Well, I'll be damned," Wyatt says from behind me, sounding impressed. "They never listen to me like that."
The cats slink away in opposite directions, shooting betrayed looks over their shoulders.
I turn back to Wyatt, feeling smug and not bothering to hide it. "I think I just found my calling. If I wouldn't make it as a nature photographer, I could always apply as your catsitter."
He just snorts. "I think you're way above my budget."
As someone whose flirting game is nonexistent, I don't know where I suddenly find the courage to blurt out things I never normally say. "You can just pay me with a kiss."
I think for sure Wyatt will laugh it off. Instead, he cups my jaw and pulls me to him in a kiss that leaves me shaking for more. Yep, that kind of payment definitely works.
Dinner is morerelaxed than I would have thought possible after what happened earlier. We eat at the small table, our kneestouching underneath, as I tell him about my photography classes and he shares stories about building the cabin.
I realize halfway through the meal that I'm laughing—really laughing, not the polite chuckle I've perfected for my parents' business dinners or the forced giggle for awkward dates. It's my real laugh, the one that sometimes snorts at the end, and I'm not even embarrassed when it happens.
"What?" Wyatt asks when I suddenly go quiet, staring at my bowl.
"Nothing," I say, then correct myself. "Actually, something. I just realized I feel ... relaxed. Like I can breathe properly for the first time."
His expression softens. "Good. That's good. After you finish, I have something to show you."
After dinner, he does just that, taking me to his stargazing spot. I grab my camera, excited by the prospect of night photography. This was my goal in coming here. Although, yeah, I did not account for getting lost and being totally unprepared for, well, everything.
"It's just up the ridge," he says, leading me outside. "Clearest view of the stars you'll ever see."
He's not exaggerating. When we reach the flat outcropping of rock, I gasp at the vast expanse of stars above us, more than I've ever seen in the city-light polluted skies I'm used to.
"This is incredible," I say, already adjusting my camera settings.
Wyatt spreads a blanket on the ground, and we lie back, shoulders touching as we gaze upward.
"So," I say after a comfortable silence, "did you bring me here hoping for a repeat of what happened earlier?"
He turns his head to look at me, surprise evident in his features before he bursts into laughter.
