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Olivia stiffens. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“Putting yourself down. You have a lot to offer…much more than your prowess in bed.”

Warmth floods me at her compliment and a pretty pink flush appears on her cheeks. She turns to the dough and repeats the motions I taught her.

“Good girl.That’s right. It’s not just about the strength, but the motion.” The flush brightens, and I groan. “You make it sohardfor me to behave.”

“I don’t think you ever want to behave, so don’t pin this on me.”

I bark out a laugh, and heads swivel toward us. Quickly, I step away from the tempting doctor and stand at her side. I take out another chopping board and dice the tomatoes for the meat sauce.

My knife snaps in a quick, staccato rhythm as I work the vegetables, the motions as effortless as breathing. And after a few seconds, I notice Olivia’s stopped moving.

Frowning, I find her gaping at my hands.

“I’m dreaming. I must be dreaming. I had too many orgasms and now can’t tell dream from reality.”

I snort. “You’re most definitely not dreaming. Because if you were,” I dip my mouth next to her ear, “you’d be wearing nothing other than a tiny apron and my cock would be buried deep inside you while you work the dough. I’ll show you how it’s all about the rhythm, not the strength. The fucking rhythm.”

That seems to do the trick because she takes a wide step to the left.

“You’re impossible.”

“Always. There’s no standard too low for me. I aim to please.”

“Ugh,” she grumbles, clearly exasperated, but I see her lips twitch. She knows I’m joking. “How do you know so much about cooking? And your knife skills…you clearly know what you’re doing.”

Turning my attention back to the task, I smile. “My mom. We had a chef, but Mom still loved spending time in the kitchen. She used to say it was her way of nurturing us with her love.”

I think about the time the four of us, Ethan included, huddled around a low table she set up there because we were too short for the high counters. She’d put out plates of chocolate chip cookies, fresh from the oven, with a sprinkle of cinnamon and nutmeg. We stuffed ourselves, then laughed at the chocolate sauce all over our faces.

Maxwell would grumble when it got on his art. Ryland cackled as he whacked his twin with a picture book. Ethan babbled his happiness. I’d sit there, happy to be included, while Mom would wipe the crumbs from my lips.

“If you asked Maxwell, he’d say I was making shit up. But when we were kids, I was afraid of everything. It’s hard to believe that since I’m the Anderson daredevil now, but it’s true. And while we’re a close bunch now, back then, we didn’t get along. I was ostracized…the twins attached atthe hip, Ethan and Lana were too young, and I didn’t know better. Girls had cooties, you know.”

She smiles as she cuts the pasta into strips.

“So it was just me, the middle child. You’re a psychiatrist, so I’m sure you’ve read about the middle child syndrome—rebellious yet people-pleasing, feeling like an outsider, the works. Mom loved to cook, and I’d spend time with her in the kitchen. She taught me how to be creative—make up stories, try new recipes, create fun for myself. It became an outlet over the years.”

I put the tomatoes to the side and work on the carrots. “She’d be so disappointed now, seeing what a clusterfuck I’d become. But then again, I also had a hand in her death, so…” I shrug.

Her hands stop moving. “It isn’t your fault. I’ll tell you that until you believe it. And you aren’t messed up.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not.” She touches my forearm, stilling my knife. “You have the same amount of mess we all have. You just hide it better and for longer.”

Something in my chest twitches and a heaviness sits atop my lungs. She squeezes my arm, her thumb circling the small scars she saw up close before.

“Look at me, Rex.”

“Rex, huh? What happened to Mr. Anderson?” I drag my gaze to hers and my breath throttles.

Such beautiful, soft eyes. So gentle, so kind.

“Trash festers when we don’t deal with it. Do the work and deep clean. And once you’re done, you’ll be okay again. I know you will.”