“Do I have to?” She pouted.
“Yes.”
“But—”
“Hailey.”
She grumbled something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse word she absolutely should not know, then stomped off up the stairs.
Roman watched her go, mouth tight, and then he ran a hand through his hair.
Even though she was upstairs, I could still hear her shuffling around, complaining to herself. The girl definitely had attitude. I liked it.
I fidgeted with the hem of my sweater as the silence continued, feeling a bit like a child waiting for instruction.
“I can make hot chocolate,” I offered, wanting something to do that would occupy my hands.
Roman turned to me, his cheeks still red from the snow. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” I cut in, then immediately regretted how eager I sounded. “I mean, it’s cold. And it sounded like you two had almost too much fun.”
The image of big, burly Roman sledding down a hill on a child-sized sled and then falling off flashed through my mind. I pressed my lips against a smile. Part of me wished I had gone with them just to witness it.
Roman hesitated, as if he could read my thoughts, but he didn’t argue. “All right. Hot chocolate sounds nice.”
When I reached the kitchen, I busied myself with finding what I needed. Milk. Cocoa. Sugar. I even found a can of condensed milk and a bar of chocolate. The house was so well stocked it almost made me feel like an intruder, like at any moment someone was going to walk in and ask what I thought I was doing.
The soft thud of heavy footsteps on the wood floor alerted me to Roman’s presence. He didn’t say anything, but I sensed his attention on me.
Ignoring him, I focused on the stove and the familiar comfort of doing something with my hands. I poured both the cold milk and the can of condensed milk into a saucepan and let it heat up. Found a whisk and carefully added the cocoa powder to make sure there were no clumps. Paying attention to the temperature so the milk wouldn’t burn, I shaved up some of the chocolate bar and added it in a little at a time until it was the color and consistency I wanted. Last, I added the sugar, tasting it as I went to make sure it didn’t get too sweet.
It turned out perfect.
It wasn’t until I took the pot off the burner and turned away from the stove that I remembered Roman. He was sitting at the table, watching.
I stiffened.
He tilted his head, thoughtful. “You seem to know your way around a kitchen.”
I yanked my sleeves down over my hands so I wouldn’t fidget too much under his gaze. It always seemed too intense, like I might get crushed under the weight of it.
“Yeah.” I forced my voice to remain steady. “I’ve been cooking for a long time.”
Roman inhaled deeply, his chest expanding. Though he’d changed out of his snow gear, he still seemed to have the same underclothes on. The gray thermal was damp and clung to his defined torso.
“It smells good.”
I startled at his words, distracted from the staring I should not have been doing. “Huh?”
His mouth tightened. “The hot chocolate,” he explained. “It smells good.”
“Oh.” I let out a strained laugh. “Right. Thank you. I hope it tastes good too.”
It did. I was sure about that, but something about him was totally throwing me off.
Maybe it was that harsh grumpiness.
There was a longer pause, and I was about to pour him a mug when he asked, “Have you thought about my offer?”
