"Oh ye of little faith." Shane stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. "I've got everything you need."
I'm starting to believe that,April thought, but didn't say it out loud.
The kitchen was open to the great room, divided only by a long island topped with butcher block. April opened the fridge and blinked. Vegetables. Actual fresh vegetables, not just beer and leftover takeout. Cheese, milk, eggs. A drawer full of deli meat and another with various cuts of fresh meat wrapped in butcher paper.
"You really do cook," she said, impressed.
Shane came up behind her—close enough that she could feel his warmth. When he reached past her for the butter, his arm brushed hers and sent electricity straight through the flannel.
"Learned from Elias and Waylon when they were running out of the firehouse," he said, his voice low and close to her ear. "Can't live on MREs and protein bars forever."
April's fingers tightened on the refrigerator door. "Good to know."
"I was thinking chili. There's ground beef, chili powder, garlic—" Shane pulled open the freezer. "And I've got tamales from this little place on the edge of town. Best in Colorado."
"Kevin loves tamales."
“I love tamales!” Kevin shouted from in front of the fire.
“Ears like a bat, that one.” April laughed.
"Then it's decided." Shane pulled out the package and set it on the counter, then looked at her—really looked at her, in his kitchen, wearing his shirt. His eyes went a little hazy for a moment and his gaze skimmed up and down her body in a way that made her skin tingle and lady bits clench. "You cook, I'll help?"
"Deal." The word came out a little rough and she cleared her throat.
Shane turned on a radio and they fell into an easy rhythm—April browning the meat while Shane chopped onions, their hips bumping as they moved around each other. The fire crackled in the background. Rain lashed the windows and thunder boomed. Kevin set the table under Shane's patient direction, learning where the plates and silverware lived.
It felt like they'd done this a thousand times before instead of this being the first.
April caught Shane's eye as she reached for the cumin, and the look he gave her was so full of want and hope and careful restraint that her breath caught.
He leaned in close, his lips just brushing her ear.
"Careful," he murmured, his breath hot and close. "You keep looking at me like that and I'm going to forget we have an audience."
April glanced at Kevin, who was trying to fold napkins into some kind of elaborate shape.
"Noted," she breathed. "But for the record, you're looking at me the same way."
"Can't help it." Shane's voice dropped lower. "You're in my kitchen. Wearing my shirt. Cooking dinner with our kid setting the table." He shook his head. "I've imagined this more times than I can count."
Our kid.
The words hit her square in the chest. Notyour kidorKevin.Our kid.
Like Shane had already claimed him. Claimed both of them.
She waited for him to correct himself. He didn’t.
April turned back to the stove before the emotion could show on her face. "Chili's almost done. Just needed a little more cumin."
"Good." Shane's hand found the small of her back—just a brief touch, a promise. "I'm starving."
So was April.
But not for chili.
SIXTEEN
