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I don’t even know why I’m nervous to see them.
“Jesus, what smells so good in here?” Hudson’s voice carries through the mudroom.
“Fuck, I’m so hungry,” Cole says with a groan.
I set the last meatball on the tray and wash my hands, taking a steadying breath. I’m drying my hands on the towel as they file into the kitchen through the mudroom. They all look like they’ve been put through a blender. Dirt streaked across forearms, hair messed up from hard hats, clothes that have seen better days. There’s something undeniably attractive about men who work with their hands, who come home tired from an honest day’s labor.
My throat goes dry. For a moment, all I can do is stare at them before realizing I’m being weird. “Surprise,” I say, finally finding my voice and gesturing toward the stove where sauce is simmering and pasta water is ready to boil. “I wanted to thank you guys for letting me stay here. I know it’s not exactly cool with. . .” I trail off, not even wanting to say his name.
Gage’s face lights up. “Are you kidding? This is amazing.”
“You didn’t have to do this.” Hudson moves closer to peek at the meatballs. There’s something in his expression that makes my chest warm. Like he’s genuinely touched.
“I wanted to.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Plus, I found some good rental options today, so this might be one of my last chances to cook in a real kitchen for a while.”
Cole leans against the island, studying me. His eyes are icy blue but somehow there’s so much warmth and kindness in them. “Need any help?”
I wave him off. “Absolutely not. You guys look beat. Go shower and clean up. Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Gage grins and heads toward the stairs.
Hudson follows, pausing to squeeze my shoulder. “This really is incredible. Thank you.”
The simple touch sends warmth shooting down my arm. I busy myself with stirring the sauce so he won’t see the flush creeping up my neck. Why do these three make me feel fifteen all over again?
Cole doesn’t move. I glance over. He’s still leaning against the island, that trademark grin playing at his lips. He’s always up to something.
“What are you smiling about?”
His eyes travel from my bare feet up to meet my gaze. “I kind of like seeing you barefoot in the kitchen.”
My flush explodes across my face. The wooden spoon freezes in my hand as I stare at him, completely stunned. Is he flirting with me? The open interest in his expression makes my knees unsteady. A heat that has nothing to do with the stove settles low in my belly.
He pushes off the counter, smirk widening as he takes in my reaction. “See you in thirty, Red.”
I watch him leave, heart hammering against my ribs and my face on fire, completely at a loss. What the hell was that?
I force myself to focus on the food, on the mechanical motions of cooking as my mind keeps circling back to the way Cole looked at me. Like he was seeing something he wanted. Like he was imagining . . .
No. He’s just being playful. Flirty. That’s how he is. So why can’t I shake the image of his gaze darkening as it traveled over me? Why do I keep thinking about Gage remembering exactly how I like my coffee this morning or the way he brought me that donut? Or the way I caught Hudson watching me when he showed me the guest room.
Fuck I’m in trouble.
Groaning, I drop my forehead to the counter, hoping it’ll cool me down. I give myself a minute to be embarrassed before I get back to work. The sound of spraying water carries from deeper in the house as I put the meatballs in the skillet. I cook them most of the way through before laying them back on the tray and adding a dollop of sauce to each one. I add parmesan on top of half of them, leaving the rest cheese free, and slide them into the oven to finish cooking.
I watch the pasta cook while I chew on my cheek and try to keep my mind from straying back to the guys. This is dangerous territory. These men have been Matt’s friends since high school. It would be wrong to pursue anything with any of them.
As I plate the spaghetti and arrange the meatballs, I can’t ignore the way my pulse quickens at the thought of them coming back downstairs. I can’t pretend that some treacherous part of me is hoping Cole will look at me like that again.
I’m playing with fire, and I know it. The smart thing would be to find an apartment tomorrow and get out of here before I do something stupid.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs makes my breath catch.
Too late to run tonight.
Surprisingly, dinner isn’t as awkward as I thought it would be. The conversation flows easily. With the renovation underway, there’s so much to discuss, all my plans, the budget—thank god they’re on budget—any issues that’ve come up and how they’re handling it. But as we’re wrapping up, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m intruding on their friendship. They move around each other the way people do when they’ve been friends for a lifetime. They share glances that are conversations all on their own. It makes me miss my own friends.
Once Gage finishes, I push my chair back and reach for his bowl. “Let me take that.”
