“You cook like this every night?” David asked from his perch at the bar, “or is this a one-time bribe?”
“I’m making dinner, not applying for a job.”
“True, you do technically have one already.”
Emma wiped all amusement from her face and shot him a warning glare. “And you technically want to eat, so I’d watch the commentary.”
Nick snorted. David’s grin turned sharp and mischievous, eyes glinting with the particular brand of troublemaking that Lena said got him into regular trouble.
“Is that any way to talk to your boss?”
“You’re not my boss.” Emma pulled serving dishes from the cabinet—crystal, expensive, definitely Nick’s doing.
She thought about that for a second. Nope. He’d been too down-to-earth here at home for that. More likely, the purchasing manager wanted to impress him. “You’re an annoying roommate who’s about to lose dinner privileges.”
Nick laughed outright. David pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense.
“Zach,” he appealed. “Are you going to let her talk to me like that?”
Zach set down the knife. Turned. Met Emma’s eyes with something that might have been approval, or amusement, or both.
“Yes,” he said.
David sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll behave.”
“Doubtful,” Nick murmured.
“Unlikely,” Zach said at the same time.
Emma brought the pot roast to the table. Zach followed with the bread basket, and the four of them settled into their chairs as if this were routine. Normal. A weekly dinner instead of the first time she’d cooked in their space.
“This might be the best decision we’ve made all week,” Nick eyed the food with genuine appreciation.
“Second best,” David corrected.
Emma raised an eyebrow. “What was the first?”
“Letting you move in.”
Something in her core went soft and dangerous. She’d expected jokes, teasing, even mild resentment at having theirmasculine sanctuary invaded. Not… this. Simple acceptance. Warmth.
Of course, Marguerite lived in their house on Mimosa Cay. Kate and Lena did now as well. This family atmosphere may be normal for them. Maybe she was the one not used to it.
“Eat,” Zach said.
Everyone reached for serving spoons. Emma passed the pot roast to Nick, who passed the carrots to David, who loaded his plate like he hadn’t seen food in days. Easy choreography. Found family in action.
Across the table, through the steam rising from the meal and the comfortable chaos of reaching hands and clinking silverware, Emma caught Zach watching her.
Not assessing. Not analyzing.
Just… watching.
Her pulse kicked. Their eyes held for a beat too long—long enough for her to see past the ice to something warmer underneath. Something that looked almost like contentment.
Then he blinked, the moment broke, and he reached for the bread like nothing had happened.
Emma’s hands trembled as she served herself potatoes.
