But easy doesn’t look like this.
“I’m…uh…” I start, clearing my throat and hiking a thumb overmy shoulder toward my house. “I’m about to make some dinner if you want to come inside.”
She hesitates but then nods. “Yeah. Dinner without the loudness of the bar sounds nice.”
I grin wider than I should, stepping to the side and putting my arm out to guide her into my home. She reaches for her phone, likely sending a quick text to Lily about her change in plans. Once we get to my door, she takes off her shoes by the door without me asking, then pauses like she’s conscious of every step into my life.
I try to see the place through her eyes as she looks everywhere, taking it all in. It’s different from the loft—old, scuffed floors, hand-me-down furniture, and a couple of framed photos on the wall of me, Griffin, and Dallas, and then some of me with Lily and Poppy. Her hand covers her mouth in a chuckle when she spots Nan alone in a picture. One that she demanded I have in this place.
“This place suits you.”
“Does that mean you don’t think it’s a disaster?”
She shoots me a pointed stare. “No. It means it’s real.”
I swallow around the lump suddenly lodged in my throat and retreat to the safer territory of the stove. “I was just getting dinner started.”
She follows me, sliding into one of the stools at the small island, resting her elbows on the counter. I can feel her eyes on me as I move, preparing the chicken and vegetables.
“How long have you lived here?” she asks.
“I’ve been in Wyoming all my life. But moved to Bluestone Lakes when I was twelve, and then I got this place when I turned nineteen,” I say, flipping the chicken and listening to the satisfying sizzle. “My uncle helped me buy it. It needed a lot of work, but it’s what I like doing, so I didn’t mind.”
“You did a good job,” she says, looking around at the walls. “I’d never be able to tell this house was anything other than this. I like it. It feels…safe.”
“I like safe.”
“Yeah,” she says softly. “Me too.”
We fall into a conversation that feels different from the ones we have on set while I finish cooking. It feels slower because no one is waiting off-camera to yell cut. It feels natural.
I set the plate down and slide it across the island in front of her.
She stares at it for a moment before she grins. “So, you mean to tell me that you can build thingsandcook?”
I plate my food, rounding the island and taking the seat next to her. “I contain multitudes.”
Turning my head to the side, I watch as she takes the first bite. I bite down on my bottom lip as I watch her eyes fall closed as all the flavor hits her at once. When she opens her eyes, she swats my forearm with the back of her hand. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Look pleased with yourself.”
I shrug. “It’s not my fault you’re easy to impress.”
She narrows her eyes. “I’m not impressed. I’m…adequately fed.”
I lean back on the chair, draping one arm over the back of hers. “You made a sound when you tasted that.”
She lifts the fork to her mouth, but she pauses with it an inch from her face when my words register. I didn’t mean them the way she’s taking them. I can see by the way her eyes widen just barely, and she stares down at the food on the fork.
“It was a happy sound,” I add.
She moves then, taking another bite, slower this time. Swallowing, she pats her mouth with a napkin. “This is really good, though. I’m impressed. What is this called?”
“Marry Me Chicken.” Her gaze snaps to me, and I can’t help but laugh. “That’s really the name of the recipe. It’s said the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. So, whoever came up with it meant for whoever eats it to fall in love with the others cooking.”
She stares at me for a beat, and now I fear I’vereallysaid too much.
