Chapter 27
“His cooking is the second-hottest thing about him.”
-Cam
Mama always said: “Take a shower. You’ll feel better.” It was her answer to everything. Got a cold? Take a shower. Chickenpox? Take a shower? Gunshot? Take a shower.
Fine. She didn’t say that last one, but in my head, I imagine she probably would.
A shower did wash off all the forest I brought home with me and made my hangover feel better. My cuts and bruises are a different story.
I wince as I check them over and apply antibacterial cream and bandages. I’m covered in black and blue marks from being thrown to the ground before the explosion. Not as bad as being stabbed by corn, but pretty damn close.
That’s the external damage. This will heal.
The internal stuff? Well, that’s another story.
Aaron didn’t seem relieved to learn about Dakota. And that crack about bringing a terrorist to Flamingo Cove and endangering his precious daughters.
As if I would do that on purpose!
It’s not only his grown-ass daughters who are in danger but my entire freaking family, right down to Luke and Wysdom’s twin infants! Hopefully, Aaron’s daughters can sense danger and know when to get the fuck out of Dodge. Wil and Carmine are dependent on someone else.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale.
Damn it.
Aaron is in Protective Dad Mode, and damn, if that isn’t hot.
It’s time to face Round Two with him. And if I get a plate of bacon that he’s cooking, all the better.
I silently leave the bedroom and slink into the kitchen, expecting to surprise Aaron, whose back is turned to me.
“If you want bacon, you’re gonna have to sit down and stop trying to sneak up on me,” Aaron doesn’t turn around.
I bite back a smile. He always had excellent hearing.
“What else ya got besides bacon?” I slide onto a barstool.
“Scrambled eggs,” he glances over his shoulder. “The way you like them.”
My stomach rumbles. I laugh.
Aaron reaches into a nearby cabinet for two plates, and I get a glimpse of back muscles as his T-shirt rides up from his jeans. That tiny swath of skin sends jets of fire straight to my core. I fidget on the stool.
He turns and places a plate in front of me. In addition to scrambled eggs and perfectly crispy bacon, Aaron made buttermilk biscuits.
“Where did you find biscuit mix?”
He shrugs. “Didn’t need it.”
I raise my eyebrows. His cooking game has leveled up since we were stuck together in the firehouse. And I decide not to grill him on it because I’m hungry. So, I dig in.
Aaron chuckles.
I stop scarfing down my food. “What’s so funny, Sparky?”
“You still hum when you love the food you’re eating.”
