“Nova, one more thing,” I say hopefully. “Can you keep this little lost towel caper between us for like forever, please?”
“Nomanito, I really can’t,” she calls back and disappears from view around the side of the house. “That’s got to come out eventually. It’s too good to keep to myself.”
Ugh.
10
Chloe
That didnotjust happen.Only it did. It happened. I was just lying on top of a naked Logan Hawkins. I shut my front door behind me and cover my face with my hands. Is mercury in retrograde? Is Venus circling Pluto or some other astrological nonsense that throws the world into chaos? Is that why I keep getting put in awkward situations with Logan Hawkins?
I walk into the kitchen and check on the homemade Hollandaise sauce I left simmering on the stove. I give it a stir. As always, my little sous-chef Stevie mills about at my feet. I can’t stop blushing because I can’t stop thinking about the fact that I was lying on top of him and he wasnaked. Despite the snowbank and the frigid air around us, his taut body was warm under me. If it wasn’t so crazy and mortifying I think it would have felt amazing. That’s got me flustered too.
There’s a knock on the front door. I cringe. Oh God, I have to face him again.
“Come in!” I call way too brightly.
A second later Logan and Chewie are in the doorway of the kitchen. Stevie barks once and goes back to staring up at me, waiting for me to drop something she can snarf down. Boss has left his position sleeping on the couch in the living room and is now standing directly under Chewie and barking. I shush him and look up to meet Logan’s eyes. We both smile at each other and then burst out laughing.
I cover my face with my hands again. “I amsosorry.”
“I’m sorry. I haven’t dated in a long time but I’m pretty sure you’re only supposed to see me naked after the date,” Logan says as his laugh dies. “I blame Chewie.”
I look down at his dog, who somehow has a guilty look on his face like he knows what we’re saying. “I didn’t see anything, if it makes you feel better. It all happened so fast.”
That’s not true. I saw stuff. Glimpses of smooth skin, ripped muscle, sculpted thighs and a very well-endowed blur of something…I fight another wave of heat to my face.
“Good. I mean, it would have made all the effort I took showering in a bathing suit with you a moot point,” Logan replies and walks further into the kitchen. “I hate putting in effort for nothing.”
The awkward tension in the room suddenly lifts. I start to relax. Logan walks over to the stove. He looks at the contents of the pots on the burner. “Homemade hollandaise?”
I nod. “My own secret recipe and it includes the lobster meat you brought me…”
“I’m glad you like seafood,” Logan says and leans against the counter next to me. “I’m pretty sure the government makes you leave the tri-state area if you don’t eat seafood.”
“Kind of like if you don’t eat SPAM in Hawaii,” I reply and his face twists in confusion.
“SPAM?”
“It’s super popular in Hawaii,” I explain. “Hawaii consumes more SPAM than any other state.”
“I had no idea,” Logan murmurs then crinkles his nose. “Are you serving me SPAM?”
“No, but I do have a killer recipe for a SPAM breakfast hash. I’ll make you try it one day and you’ll be surprised how good it is,” I explain and walk by him to go to the fridge. I pull out a pack of lobster chowder soup I defrosted earlier and walk back over to the stove. “This is a twist on a crab Eggs Benny I make. I like to add a dash of lobster bisque to my hollandaise, since that’s all the lobster I can usually afford. But today we get a good chunk of claw meat on top of the egg before I pour on the hollandaise, thanks to your stolen stash.”
“Lobster Benny sounds delicious, and I don’t know why I haven’t thought of it myself,” Logan says, his eyes are fixed on my hand while I stir the sauce. His thick arms are casually crossed over his wide chest. I’m acutely aware of everything about him.
“I can’t say I invented it. My friend Mitch was going on about a seafood Benny he had in Boston and it inspired me to start experimenting.”
“Is Mitch Aspen’s new boyfriend? Or baby daddy?” Logan asks casually and I give him a pointed look, which turns his handsome features instantly sheepish. “Sorry. That was Mrs. Green level nosy.”
“Mitch is an account executive at a local outdoor clothing company. I met him when I worked on their website and I may work with him again on an ad campaign,” I pour a little of the bisque into the hollandaise. “Also, gay, so no, not Aspen’s baby daddy that I know of.”
The simmering sauce starts to smell like the lobster bisque, and I swear I hear Logan’s stomach rumble. “It smells divine, doesn’t it?”
“If it tastes half as good, I’ll be in heaven,” Logan replies. “How much soup do you add, exactly?”
I smile. “Trying to steal my recipe?”
