He kisses the top of my head anyway.
"Okay, baby."
My phone buzzes on the floor where my jeans landed.
Colt fishes for it and hands it to me. A photo of Morgan loads on the screen. She's covered in face-paint with Isla beside her, both girls holding up sleeping bags like trophies.MOM. BEST NIGHT EVER. ALREADY!!!
I show him Colt and he chuckles like the proud father my little girl never had.
"She went to the sleepover, huh?"
"You knew about it?"
"…Yeah."
His hand slides up my spine, warm and steady.
"So that means you can stay."
And you know what…
After everything he just did… From the recipe, the notebook, the way he held me while I came undone in his arms… how could I possibly say no?
I tilt my face up to his.
"Okay, Hockey Boy," I smile, pressing a kiss to his lips. "But only if you feed me more of those delicious pastries you made."
He laughs deeply, then nuzzles scratchy kisses into my neck. "You've got yourself a deal."
Chapter 13
Colt
Ilump another chunk of butter in the pan, because why the fuck not?
It sizzles and melts around the thick-cut steak, the cast iron hissing as I spoon garlic and rosemary over the crust. The kitchen fills with that deep, smoky warmth that makes everything feel like it's exactly where it's supposed to be.
Including the woman sitting at my kitchen island, drowning in my Snow Leopards hoodie and not much else.
Zoey's perched on the stool with her knees drawn up, bare feet tucked beneath her, her dark hair still mussed from the sofa. The hoodie swallows her whole, the sleeves hanging past her fingertips, the hem hitting mid-thigh.
She looks like sheliveshere.
And that thought should scare me. Instead, it just makes me flip the steak with a little more swagger than necessary.
"You're showing off," she says, watching me over the rim of the wine glass I poured her.
"I don't show off."
"You literally just tossed that steak in the air."
"That's calledtechnique, Morrison."
She snorts, taking a sip. "It's called a liability. If that lands on the floor, I'm eating your share."
Behind us, the TV hums with some movie neither of us has looked at in twenty minutes. I think it's a thriller. There might be a car chase happening.
Honestly, I couldn't tell you what it's called if my life depended on it, because every molecule in my body is tuned to the woman in my kitchen who's wearing nothing but my hoodie and a pair of very sexy panties underneath.
