She blinks. “You’ve never been on TikTok?” She pulls back slightly, staring at me like I’ve just told her I don’t believe in electricity. “What about Instagram?”
I think for a second, then shake my head. “Nope. I have an old Facebook profile that I never use.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I know about that. I stalked you.”
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow, grinning. “On the hunt for something specific?”
She laughs, her cheeks flushing pink. “I was trying to dig up information on you. Figure out if you were secretly married or a serial killer or something. And see if I could work out the age difference.” She pokes my chest. “Once I found out you’re only ten years older, I knew I had a shot. Though I can’t believe you’re not on any social media. Are you sure you’re not actually fifty?” She tilts her head, studying me with mock suspicion. “Is the whole rugged handsome thing a disguise for being a grandpa?”
“Grandpa?” I narrow my eyes at her, fighting a smile. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that later.”
I give her ass a sharp smack and she gasps, then laughs, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Good.” She bites her lip, looking up at me through her lashes. “I’m willing to be a little bratty if it means I get a proper punishment later.”
I groan, my grip tightening on her hips. “You’re making it very hard to wait until after dinner.”
“Then don’t wait.” She presses closer, her body warm against mine.
“Tempting.” I lean down and kiss her neck, feeling her shiver. “Very tempting. But I’m a chef, and those artichokes are going to lose their crisp if they sit too long.” I pull back and look at her, my thumb stroking along her hip bone. “So you’re just going to have to be patient.”
“Ha, you’re such a perfectionist.” She shakes her head, smiling. “Which I adore, but it can also be very inconvenient when I’m trying to seduce you. And patience is not my strong suit.”
“I know.” I smack her ass again, lighter this time, and step back toward the stove. “Consider it part of the punishment.”
The fire pit flickers in front of us, casting dancing shadows across the patio stones. The December air is cold enough to see our breath, but between the outdoor heater humming quietly beside us and the flames and the fact that Emma is tucked against my side under a thick wool blanket, I’m not cold at all.
The Puget Sound stretches out below us, dark water reflecting the stars scattered across the clear night sky. It’s one of those rare Pacific Northwest winter nights—no clouds, no rain, just endless sky and the distant glow of lights on the far horizon.
Emma sighs contentedly, swirling the last of her wine in her glass. “That panna cotta was otherworldly. I think I’m ruined forever.” She tilts her head against my shoulder. “You’ll just have to cook for me all the time now. I can’t go back to microwave dinners after that.”
I smile. Cooking has always been the way I show love. It’s why I opened the restaurant in the first place—not just for the business, but because feeding people, nourishing them, creatinga space where they feel taken care of... that’s what makes me feel alive. And the idea of doing that for her, every night, having her here in my kitchen, in my home, letting me take care of her...
“I like the sound of that,” I say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’d cook for you every night if you’d let me.”
“Promise?” She tilts her head up to look at me, her green eyes soft in the firelight.
“Promise.”
We’ve been out here for over an hour, talking about everything and nothing. Her sisters and their very different personalities. My brothers and our complicated family dynamics. The chaos of running a restaurant during the holiday season. Her students and the wild things they say that make her laugh until she cries.
We talked about Chloe, about Victoria, about what it’s like co-parenting with someone who isn’t always reliable. She listened without judgment, asked thoughtful questions, and made me feel like my complicated life isn’t too much for her to handle.
It’s easy with her. The kind of easy that usually takes years to build. She sighs and snuggles deeper into my side, pulling the blanket tighter around us.
“Your property is insane, you know that?” She gestures out at the view with her wine glass, taking in the sloping yard disappearing into darkness, the silhouettes of Douglas firs swaying gently, the water glittering beyond. “Like, genuinely ridiculous. How did you even find this place?”
“Luck, mostly.” I take a sip of my own wine, savoring the Luna Terza. “It was a foreclosure. Needed a ton of work. The roof was shot, half the plumbing was rusted out, the previous owners had let it go to hell. But I saw the bones of it, and the view, and I knew.” I shrug. “So I got it for way under market value and spent the next few years fixing it up myself.”
“Well, you did an incredible job.” She takes a sip of wine, then glances to the right of the house, toward the detachedstructure sitting at the edge of the property near the tree line. “What’s that? I didn’t even notice it earlier.”
“That’s my workshop.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Workshop? Like... woodworking?”
“Yeah.”
“You do woodworking?” She twists to look at me fully, the blanket slipping off her shoulder. “Why am I just finding this out now?”
