He snatched the bread out of my hands.
His fingers grazed mine as he snatched the bread, a spark snapping through my skin so sharply I nearly dropped it.]
“I’m cooking the grilled cheese tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m tired of just cheese and bread. I’m gonna spice it up my way.”
I smirked. “It’s called a grilled cheese, but have it your way, soldier. No tomatoes, though.”
“You can take them off. Just try it.”
“I just told you I don’t like tomatoes.”
“That makes no sense because you love salsa.”
“Lots of things don’t make sense. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t true.”
“Fine, do you like apples?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Just sit back and prepare to be amazed.”
I leaned against the counter, watching him. Watching too closely. The kitchen felt too small, too full of him. Every slice of the knife, every low exhale he let out, thudded inside me like a second heartbeat.
“I’m definitely going to be amazed if you can pull off adding apples to a grilled cheese sandwich… and make it taste good.”
He tossed a grin over his shoulder, one that hit me square in the chest. “Anything of mine tastes good.”
Butterflies erupted, wild and relentless, clawing up my throat. I forced myself to look away, but every movement he made wasmagnetic. Effortless. Dangerous. Nick wasn’t just cooking — he was seducing, whether he realized it or not. The way he powered on the stove, how the butter melted into a golden pool as he sliced apples with slow precision, a sprinkle of cinnamon dusting the air… It was maddening. I didn’t know watching a man cook could be sexy, but then again, nothing about Nick Console fit inside the lines of what I thought I knew.
“Have you always liked to cook?” I asked, my voice too thin, too needy. I didn’t want small talk — I wanted him. Wanted the heat, the pull, the unfinished kiss between us to finally break open.
“Not always. I grew to like it. I hated cooking for my sister when my mom was working late or… gone. Luckily, Nora would help me. It’s why I learned how to make a lot of American and Italian dishes.”
He switched the bread out for sourdough, hands moving with easy confidence.
“Is that why you have a confusing menu at your restaurant?”
He paused, just briefly — enough for me to see the tension ripple under his skin — before shrugging it off and laying slices of cheese down.
“I wouldn’t say it’s confusing.”
“Yeah, well… when the restaurant screams Italian and people show up for that and then see burgers and chicken tenders, it’s a little confusing. Less is more sometimes.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The buttery smell was intoxicating, thickening the air between us. My stomach growled embarrassingly loud.
“My marketing class taught me that a confused mind says no.”
“Is that what you were going to college for?”
“I don’t know. Marketing and creating stuff interested me, so I went that route. Not sure if I’d be any good at it.”
“Why not?”
