“Nope. No catfight.” Aiden’s mouth curved slightly. “Though if you’d stayed, I’m sure there would’ve been.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” I said, frowning.
His eyes gleamed. “It doesn’t have to. It’s you.”
The rain deepened outside, drumming against the roof. I stood and lifted my nose, catching that rich scent again. “Did you cook?”
“I did. You trust me with explosives,” he said, turning back to the stove. “You can trust me with pasta.”
The cabin lights glowed against the storm, the kitchen warm and golden. Steam curled from a pot on the range.
“I never said I trusted you with explosives,” I teased. “Just that you’re good with them.”
“Noted.” He twirled a fork through the pot. “You want wine?”
“Absolutely.” I brushed dog hair off my jeans, walked toward the rear sliding glass door, and looked out at the silver surface of the lake. The darkness pressed close to the cabin, thick and watchful. Rain on the roof sounded like steady static, almost soothing.
I heard the cork pop and then the clink of glasses. When I turned, Aiden was leaning against the counter, sleeves rolled to his forearms, pouring two glasses of red wine. The firelight picked up lighter strands in his hair and painted his skin in amber tones.
He’d been upgrading the cabin. The counters gleamed in dark marble now, the wood floors newly polished. Still rough around the edges, but warmer. The place felt more lived-in but not quite. It needed some softer touches.
“What?” he asked, catching me looking.
“Oh, nothing.”
His blue eyes softened. “You can plant whatever you want in here. Decorate however you like.”
I blinked. “We haven’t really talked about that.”
“I don’t care,” he said simply. “Just no lacy pillows on the couch. It’s leather. Otherwise, knock yourself out.”
“I will. Thanks.”
He passed me a glass, his fingers brushing mine. “Of course.” Heat shot up my arm, quick and unsettling. “Do you need money?” he asked.
I met his eyes over the rim of my glass, always needing money. “No.”
He studied me for a beat, the way he did when he wanted to ask more but didn’t. The fire popped behind us, throwing shadows across the room. Outside, the storm raged, but in the cabin it was steady warmth and quiet.
We weren’t to the point where we shared funds. Money didn’t seem to matter much to Aiden, and it wasn’t like he’d grown up with any of it. Still, he’d bought this cabin outright, so I knew he’d saved far better than I ever had. I’d never been much of a saver. Keeping the law firm afloat sometimes took everything I had and then some.
“What are we eating?” I asked, steering the conversation away from finances.
“Baked rigatoni with spicy sausage.” He moved toward the stove, flicked off the flame, and drained the pasta in one smooth motion. Steam rose up, carrying the scent of tomato, basil, and heat. He tossed everything together in a big wooden bowl my Nana had given him as a housewarming gift, finishing with a generous snowfall of shaved Parmesan.
“Sometimes I forget you can cook,” I said.
He lifted one powerful shoulder in a shrug. “I can follow directions.”
“Show-off.”
“Sit.”
I sat at the small table we’d recently bought for the nook overlooking what would someday be the back deck. The windows glowed faintly from the reflection of the fire, and the rain outside had turned into a steady whisper against the glass.
He placed two steaming bowls down on the bare table, and I reminded myself, again, that we really needed placemats.
“I didn’t make a salad or anything,” he said.
