“Ninety,” he joked. Then there was a shriek of childish laughter in the background and the line went dead.
I stood there for another moment with my phone still in my hand, shaking my head and grinning as I wondered who had done what to who in that house of theirs to have caused that laughter. Honestly, for a really long time, I didn’t think my oldest cousin knewhowto laugh. These days, however, with his wife and all those kids, there was always laughter when we saw or spoke to them.
When my thoughts inevitably turned to wondering whether that would eventually be true for me too, I shoved my phone back into my pocket and headed toward the kitchen. Jane stood at the island with her hair pulled back, her sleeves rolled up, and a wooden spoon in her hand.
Jazz music played from her phone and she was moving with it, swaying her hips to the beat and cooking like it was musclememory. The counters were covered with vegetables and herbs, and whatever was simmering on the stove smelled incredible.
I leaned against the doorway. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
She started, then glanced up at me and smiled. “I might’ve been a chef in a past life.”
“This looks like it’s going to be a feast.”
She shrugged. “I can’t bake to save my life. Every bread, pastry, or cake I’ve ever tried has been a disaster, but give me a stove and I’m fine.”
I crossed the room before I could think better of it, cupped her face in my hands, and kissed her. It was quick, instinctive, and maybe even a little bit necessary. I had only let her out of bed when we’d both realized that the storm was easing and that we hadn’t eaten since before we’d left the city yesterday afternoon.
The delivery apps had been back online when I’d checked. So, reluctantly, I’d agreed to place the order. Then we’d showered and the groceries had come, Sterling had called, and as easy as all that, our weekend in bed had lasted only a few hours before it was over.
When I lifted my mouth away from hers, she smiled up at me. “What was that for?”
“Are you doing this for me?” I asked.
She glanced back at the stove. “I don’t get to cook like this at home. It’s for both of us.”
As I backed away from her, she shot me a look and pointed the spoon at my chest. “Don’t get any funny ideas about our future. I don’t often have time to make a meal like this.”
I laughed. “At this rate, I’m going to end up your dutiful househusband.”
“That’ll be the day.” She rolled her eyes and went to stir whatever was in the pot. Then she caught sight of her watch andstiffened. “Zara will be here any second. I’d better go get dressed for real.”
I groaned. “But I like you in nothing but my shirt.”
“So do I, but my new friend might not appreciate it quite as much.” She stuck the spoon into my hand, gave me strict instructions about how often to stir, and disappeared up the stairs.
The doorbell rang not long after and Jane went to open it. Zara breezed in like she’d visited us here a dozen times before, her coat dusted with snow and a bright smile on her face as she thrust a bottle of wine she’d brought along toward me.
“For you, good sir.” She pretended to curtsy, blowing right past me to envelop Jane in a hug.
I glanced at the wine, realizing why she’d given it to me, and headed to the bar to go grab some glasses like the dutiful husband I’d told Jane I would someday become. I just hadn’t realized that day would be today.
After I’d handed over their drinks, I retreated back to the living room, leaving them to talk at two dozen miles a minute in the kitchen. I poured myself a bourbon and got caught up with some emails until Jane called out to let me know the food was ready.
With Zara around, dinner was a much louder affair than I’d been anticipating, but she was just as fun as her brother and my wife had made her out to be. She slid easily into any conversation, trading barbs with Jane, and asking me questions that were half teasing, half pointed.
Somewhere between the second glass of wine and the main course, I finally cornered her about my brother. “So, you know Nate.”
She smiled sweetly. “We met in college.”
“That’s vague.”
“Intentionally so.”
Jane snorted into her glass and Zara winked at her. I watched them, my wife laughing as her friend turned back to me. “If you want to know anything else, you’ll have to ask your brother directly, Alex. I may have a big mouth, but I’m no gossip.”
“Great. How did I manage to find the only socialite in the world who doesn’t gossip?”
She pretended to clutch pearls she wasn’t wearing. “I’m a fashion designer, not a socialite.”
