She reached for the pot at the same moment Zach turned to pass it.
Their hands collided. Not a brush—full contact, his fingers closing around hers on the warm cast iron handle. Not accidental.
Emma froze.
He didn’t pull back immediately. For three heartbeats—she counted them—his hand stayed wrapped around hers, callused and warm and solid.
She looked up.
His eyes were already on her. Not cold anymore. Something else. Something that made her pulse kick and her breath catch,and her carefully maintained professional distance evaporate like steam.
“Emma—” His voice dropped, rougher than usual. The moment stretched…
“If you two start slow-dancing in the kitchen, I’m leaving.”
Emma jumped. Zach’s hand withdrew, smooth and controlled, like the moment had never happened. She spun to find David leaning against the doorframe, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“We’re doing dishes,” Emma said, proud of how steady her voice sounded.
“Uh-huh.” David’s grin went wicked. “Very intense dishes.”
“Did you need something?” Zach’s tone could have frozen water.
“Nick wants to review tomorrow’s briefing schedule.” David straightened, unbothered by his brother’s death glare. “But please, take your time. The dishes are important.”
He disappeared back into the great room, whistling.
“How do you refrain from killing him on a daily basis?”
Zach’s lips quirked. “Years of self-discipline.”
Emma exhaled slowly and resumed drying the pot. Her hands were unexpectedly steady. Beside her, Zach returned to washing with the same methodical focus, as if nothing had happened.
But something had.
The rhythm was the same, but they weren’t.
She could still feel the ghost of his touch on her fingers.
They finished the remaining dishes in silence—not uncomfortable, but charged. Aware. When Zach handed her the last glass, he was careful not to let their hands brush again.
Emma didn’t know if she should be relieved or disappointed.
“Thank you,” she said, hanging the towel to dry. “For helping.”
“I live here,” Zach said again.
This time, it meant: helping isn’t optional. Partnership is expected. You’re not a guest.
You belong here.
Emma’s chest tightened with something complicated and dangerous.
Nick appeared in the kitchen doorway as Zach headed over toward David. “Got a minute?”
“Sure,” Emma leaned against the counter, grateful for the interruption. Her pulse was still elevated, her skin still warm from Zach's touch.
Nick glanced over his shoulder at the others, and then back to Emma. His expression was kind but sober—the same look she imagined he wore when managing crises.
