“Good.” She quickly nodded and held the envelope against her chest.
“Good.”
Now who was being weird?
The scent of burnt metal tickled his nose. “Are you cooking something?”
“Dammit.” Marlee turned, bolting toward the kitchen.
He let out a sigh. “Little dude, it’s a good thing I like her.”
He hadn’t had a roommate since he’d moved into his own place after culinary school. Not that they couldn’t coexist in the space together. They could. They did. She was justthere. And when she was there, he found himself attracted to her. Their little tumble in the sheets had flipped some kind of switch in him, and his dick wanted to come out and play some more, specifically with her.
Which was a recipe for disaster because they were in the middle of a divorce. Sex had no business in their divorce. Just like feelings had no business in their marriage. And he was starting to worry he had some of those for her, too.
Shaving cream still on half his face, he followed the scent of burning cookware to the kitchen.
She was filling a super expensive copper-core pot he’d never seen before under the tap—she must’ve grabbed it when they got her stuff earlier that day.
Steam and smoke billowed from it.
“What were you cooking?” He pushed open the window over the sink.
“I was getting the pot ready to make pasta. I figured I could handle spaghetti. It’s just sauce and noodles.” She coughed against the steam.
“How do you get a pot ready to make pasta?” He grabbed a towel, fanning the smoke toward the open window.
“I put it on the burner to get it hot. Then I was going to add water and put in the noodles.” She looked at him like this was a totally normal way to make pasta.
He’d roll with it. Different people had different ways of cooking. Some did it the right way. Some did it this way. “What stage were you at?”
“The getting-the-pot-hot stage.” She turned to set the pot back on the burner. “I got distracted.”
“So you literally managed to burn nothing?” Which was a helluva lot better than burning the actual noodles.
“I told you I’m no good in the kitchen.” She huffed.
Yes, she told him she couldn’t cook. He didn’t realize she meant she literallycouldn’tcook.
Maybe he should find something for her to do in the office instead of having her help in the kitchen at work.
“Can I help you get the water boiling?” he asked. “We’ll just start over. Go back to the beginning.”
“That would be awesome, chef.” She shoved her hands against her hips.
His staff called him chef. It’d never made his nerves tingle before. Not like when Marlee said it. He moved to turn the stove on for her. His arm brushed hers as he flicked the knob. The nerve endings all over his body stood on end. Wired. Wanting.
A blob of shaving foam dropped from his face into the water.
“Shit.” He wiped at his unshaven cheek, smearing the foam all over his palm.
Marlee looked at him, pressing her lips together.
“Don’t say it.”
“Say what?” The laugh started in her chest, bubbling up.
“That I managed to ruin boiling the water.”
