Page 56

He winks. “You liked it.”

I refuse to confirm that.

The road bends one more time. Then the trees open, and I forget what we were talking about. “Oh.”

The house rises ahead of us in warm pools of exterior light, surrounded by shadowed lawns and trees. It isn’t the rustic cabin I somehow expected after watching him chop firewood and feed chickens online. It’s enormous, but not in the flashy, soulless-mansion way. Stone anchors the lower half while pale siding and warm wood trip steep rooflines and broad windows glowing from within.

I lean forward until the seat belt catches me. “Holy shit.”

Gage glances over, visibly pleased with himself. “Good holy shit?”

“I knew you had a nice house. I’ve seen pieces of it in videos.” I wave at the windshield. “But this is…it’s beautiful, Gage.”

“Thanks, Princess.”

As we roll into the circular drive, more of the property emerges: landscaped beds beginning to fade for fall, a stone path wrapping around one side, leading to the silhouette of another building. I point. “What’s that?”

“Carriage house. Garage downstairs, apartment upstairs.”

“An entire apartment.”

“Yes.”

He parks beneath the covered entrance and cuts the engine. For a moment, neither of us moves. “You live here alone?”

“Six cats. And chickens, of course. I’m rarely lonely.”

I know that. He collaborates with other chef influencers, travels to unique places, and gets invited to food festivals and culinary events. Caters sometimes, apparently. We both have our own lives.

“Even less lonely the past two months,” he adds. I turn, almost bumping noses with him, and giggle right before he kisses my cheek. “I’m looking forward to introducing you to my six children. Grand tour first, suitcase second.”

The front door opens into a wide foyer, and I barely get one foot across the threshold before something furry shoots around Gage’s ankles.

“Daddy’s home,” he announces, bending automatically as Cannoli stretches up his leg. He scoops her beneath the front legs and kisses the top of her head. “Hello to you too, beautiful.”

“You, too, criminal,” he directs to Eclair, who circles his boots, meowing as if he abandoned her for several fiscal quarters instead of a few hours.

Muffin trots down the stairs to join the welcome committee. Whoa. He’s much bigger in person. Strudel, sleek and silver-blue, quietly assesses me before padding down to sit at Gage’s heel.

My heart melts straight out through my shoes. “Oh, my God.”

Gage peers at me over Cannoli’s head. “You’ve seen cats before.”

“Not your cats. In their natural habitat.”

“Natural habitat.” He puts Cannoli down, and she immediately winds between his legs again while Tartlet pounces on his shoe. “You make it sound like a nature documentary.”

I sweep a hand around. “Observe the common domestic freeloader greeting its provider upon his return.”

He snatches Tartlet up by her scruff and boops noses with her. “Provider, servant, butler. They’re synonymous.” He sets her before me.

I can’t argue. I kneel and offer my hands. They sniff me, heads bobbing just a fraction. Muffin headbutts my palm in approval. Tartlet stabs me with her tiny teeth, tail flicking playfully. Cannoli is largely indifferent, but she’s Daddy’s girl, which makes sense since he’s had her the longest.

When I inch my hand toward Eclair, she hisses. I freeze. She backs away two graceful steps, then sits to study me with narrowed eyes, tail curled neatly around her paws.

“Oof. Tough sell,” I say, smiling as Muffin headbutts me again.

“Don’t take it personally. Eclair’s bipolar. Therapy has proven ineffective, but catnip has produced some success.”