The sound of him rummaging through the drawers fills the space as I bring the pot over to the sink to pour it.
When he finds what he’s looking for, he steps up beside me at the sink, shoulder to shoulder, and holds the strainer under the lip of the pot.
For a second, we just stand together.
Steam rises in white plumes between us as I drain the water.
It’s hard not to be obvious when I hold my breath, but breathing in his cologne this up close is making my head spin.
My hand slips when I try to tilt the pot back, nearly knocking everything into the sink.
Dean takes it from me before I can protest, draining the rest into the sink for me.
He moves easily, confidently, like he’s done this a hundred times before.
His shoulders are broad beneath his flannel, forearms flexing as he lifts the pot with one hand and sets it to the side.
I shouldn’t be watching, but fuck, my eyes have a mind of their own.
“Careful,” I say without thinking.
He glances back at me, grin widening. “You worried about me, sweetheart?”
My cheeks flush before I can help it. “I’m worried about the food, actually. Don’t drop the pasta or we’ll be drinking just the sauce for dinner.”
He laughs a low, warm sound that fills the kitchen and makes it hard to focus on anything else.
I can’t help staring into those blue eyes that bore into me.
They pin me in place, keeping me rooted to my spot with no way to pull myself out of the hypnosis I’ve suddenly fallen into.
His lips part then, the tip of his tongue quickly swiping across his bottom lip to wet it. “You?—”
A deeper voice cuts him off, coming from behind us. “You two aren’t burning the place down, are you?”
I look up just in time to see Grant appear in the doorway.
His flannel sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, something solid and box-like tucked under his arm that I can’t quite make out from here.
Dean rolls his eyes. “Relax, cowboy. We’ve got it handled.”
“Sure you do,” Grant says, his tone dry but edged with amusement.
His gaze shifts to me, and for a moment, the whole room seems to still again.
His eyes roll over me slowly just like they did in the foyer, making my chest give a sharp, traitorous flutter.
Fuck me…
I clear my throat quickly. “Dinner’s almost ready. I was just about to set the table. You want to take that over? Dad should be here soon.”
He nods. “The plates are…?”
I nod over to the opposite side of the kitchen, toward a cabinet next to the pantry. “You can take out the fancy ones. Tonight’s a good excuse to use them.”
Dean laughs again. “Hell yeah. I like the sound of that.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
