Holly
“Ican't believe you, you hussy,” Amber spat at me.
“Relax. I'm just being helpful,” I said as I rode up in the elevator with the other contestants. I wished Amber had been sent home, but at least it hadn't been me.
Once at the penthouse, I collected my spices then added the box of leftover cookies from the last competition. Hopefully Owen had more in his condo than energy drinks and frozen dinners.
I felt slightly nervous when I went downstairs. It was freaking me out that I was going into Owen’s home. Well, technically, I'd already been in his home and been sleeping in his bed, but he wasn't in it. This was where he currently lived, his personal space. Would it smell like him?
I stood at the front door then heard Owen bellow. “Get down off of there! Don't climb the curtains!”
I knocked tentatively. Several small feet pounded toward the door.
“Hi!” Andy said as the door opened a crack.
“You shouldn't just open the door to strangers,” Owen said.
“You sound like such a dad,” I teased him as he opened the door the rest of the way. His jacket and tie were off. He gestured to my container of cooking supplies.
“Honestly, you don't have to cook. We can order something. Not pizza,” he said before Henry could open his mouth.
“I thought you said you were being forced to stay in the smaller condo?” I asked him as I walked in.
“I am. This is tiny,” he insisted, taking the boxes from me. The muscles under his shirt rippled with the motion.
“It's two stories,” I said skeptically. There was a staircase off in the corner.
“I know,” Owen said seriously. “Tiny. My penthouse is three stories. This is like one and a half. I only have six bedrooms.”
“What could you possibly need with all that space?” I said, trying not to drool as I thought about completely clearing out whatever he had in there and setting up a craft room. Plus, I could have a whole room—no,twowhole rooms—dedicated entirely to Christmas stuff. I could turn one into a second kitchen…
Owen shrugged. “It's nice to have extra space.” He set my boxes down on the counter in the huge kitchen.
“Why is it so cold?” I explained. The double French doors to the balcony were open, letting in the frigid winter air.
“Seriously?” Owen said. “It's incredibly warm in here.”
I rubbed my hands together and blew on them. “We need to heat things up in this kitchen.” I unpacked my boxes then turned to Owen's cabinets. “What do we have to cook with?”
“You brought cookies?” Owen asked from his spot at the giant kitchen counter.
“Yes,” I said, opening his fridge. “I had some left over. They aren't going to last, so we might as well eat them.” If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have thought I saw him quickly reach into the bag and take one out. Must have been my imagination, though.
The fridge contained more than I was expecting.
“You have greens for salad,” I said, surveying the contents, “and you have chicken. Lots and lots of chicken. Why do you have so much chicken?”
“It's good protein,” he said. “Makes you buff.” He flexed his biceps. My brain chose that moment to beat me over the head with the image of Owen standing before me shirtless.
Yum. Muscular man.
I wiped my mouth.
“Do you have flour?” I said, opening all his cabinets. “And you do! Perfect. We will be making Holly's famous chicken tenders, a favorite of men of all ages from very small to…” I snuck another glance at Owen looking positively edible as he leaned casually against the counter. “Very large.”
I pulled my apron over my head. Owen was right there, untangling my hair from the clip in the back.
“Thanks,” I said. His hand brushed the back of my neck, making me shiver.
