He shakes his head, that maddeningly perfect dimple carving into his cheek as he smiles. “Not terrible at all.”
I feel myself tipping into that dangerous territory where every look seems loaded. It makes me nervous. I need a breath. A reset. Something a little safer.
“So,” I clear my throat. “What made you decide to build out here away from everything?”
He leans against the counter, taking a slow sip of his drink. “The quiet,” he says simply. “After years of traveling for work, hotel rooms, and constant noise, I wanted somewhere that felt like mine.” His eyes drift to the window. “Plus, you can’t beat that view.”
“I can’t argue with that logic.” I follow his gaze. “It’s breathtaking.”
“What about you?” he asks, his voice softer now. “What’s your perfect place look like?”
I consider the question, swirling my drink thoughtfully. “I guess I’ve always imagined somewhere with big windows, lots of natural light, and maybe a little reading nook where I can curl up during rainstorms.”
“Like this one?” He gestures toward a seat tucked into a bay window between the kitchen and living room.
My heart does a little flip. “Exactly like that, actually.”
“You should try it out sometime. It’s the perfect spot to watch a storm roll through.”
“That sounds an awful lot like an invitation, Knox.”
He chuckles before his expression shifts. It’s subtle, but just enough for me to notice. The glint in his eyes softens, his tone more serious. “Maybe it was.”
I swallow hard, suddenly aware of how fast my heart’s beating. Damn it, I’m blushing again.
The timer on the stove dings, saving me from my own racing thoughts.
“So,” I say, sliding off the barstool and following him back to the stove, “what’s the verdict on my onion chopping skills? Am I hired as your sous chef?”
Knox lifts the lid, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam that immediately makes my mouth water. “I’d say you’re qualified for a probationary period, though you did get a bit distracted during orientation.”
Ah, so he noticed.
“I wonder what could have possibly distracted me.”
He stirs the contents inside the pot slowly, not looking up, but I catch the smirk playing at his lips. “Complete mystery.”
“I blame the teacher. Very hands-on approach.”
He laughs, a deep rumbling sound that reverberates through the kitchen. “Is that so?” He reaches past me for two bowls from the cabinet, his arm brushing mine. “And what would you prefer? Verbal instructions only?”
I bite my lower lip, gathering courage. “I didn’t say that.”
His eyes darken slightly as they meet mine. “Noted for next time.”
Next time.
The promise in those two words makes my heart race.
“Would you mind grabbing the bread from the counter?” he asks.
I nod, grabbing it before following him to a beautiful wooden table positioned perfectly beneath a large window.
He sets our bowls down and pulls out a chair for me. “Your dinner awaits.”
“Such service,” I tease, sliding into the seat. “I’m impressed.”
“I aim to please.” He takes the spot next to me at the head of the table, close enough that our knees brush.
