Page 74 of 'Til All the Seas Run Dry

“Don’t slut-shame me, Jory.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Esther,” she replied, parking the car and turning off the ignition.

There was a deep, muffled voice in the background that said something that sounded like, “Will you slut-shame me?” A smacking sound followed.

Esther shrieked and giggled. “Never! Gotta go, Jory! Have fun!” And with a high yelp, she was gone, and Jory was left in a silent car with the knowledge that her best friend was probably about to be spanked within an inch of her life before taking charge and absolutely destroying her boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

She was about to go inside her ownboyfriend’s house. And eat food that herboyfriendwas cooking for her. And then… she didn’t know.

She got out of her car, fretting over whether she should knock. Or text him and tell him she was there? Or should she just walk in? Surely not. That would?—

The door opened before she had even rounded her car, a dark shadow looming, lit from behind by the cozy light of the cabin. As she got closer, she saw him wearing a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt, a kitchen towel slung over one shoulder. She climbed the short stairs onto the porch and walked closer. Not close enough to touch, but… closer.

“Hi,” Callum said with a smile.

“Hi,” she breathed back.

“May I?” Callum asked, his gaze on her lips.

She nodded, closing her eyes, prepared to be kissed. But he didn’t kiss her. He pulled her against his chest and wrapped his thick arms around her, holding her tight. He smelled like garlic and herbs, and Jory couldn’t help but breathe him in deeply.

“Much better,” he said against the top of her head. “I missed you.”

A part of her, the part that wanted to guard her heart and feelings from running completely out of control, didn’t want to hear him say that. But the other part, a much larger part if she were honest, preened. Because she had missed him too.

She felt him smile against her hair before he released her. “Come on in. Can I take your coat?”

“Sure,” she said, slipping through the open door and shrugging out of her jacket. “It smells good in here.”

And it did. The same smells that clung to his T-shirt permeated the air.

“I hope you like Italian food,” Callum said, pulling out a barstool for her.

“I love it. How did you know?”

She wondered if Callum had asked Esther, or if he was the type of person who had learned to cook a few things, and this dish, whatever it was, happened to be one of them. She didn’t have to wait long for an answer to the question.

“I had an Italian chef work for me at one of my estates in England. At the time, it was on trend to have a French chef, but I’d met Giorgio on a trip to Rome and hired him on the spot. He was a brilliant chef, and while it was unheard of for a duke to be seen in the kitchen?—”

“Duke?” Jory spluttered. “A duke, Callum?”

If he’d been capable of it, Jory suspected Callum would have blushed.

“Aye. A duke,” he said sheepishly, rounding the island.

He pushed her stool in and uncorked a bottle of red wine, pouring her a glass with a deft flourish, not a drop spilled, before sliding it across the counter to her.

“I would scandalize my housekeeper, Mrs. Dalrymple, by rolling up my shirtsleeves and helping Giorgio peel dozens upon dozens of cloves of garlic.”

“Garlic? Isn’t that supposed to?—”

“Another myth,” Callum interjected with a smile. “I cannae eat it, but I can peel it, touch it, and smell it with nae danger to myself.”

Jory smiled, smelling wine before taking a sip. “How did you manage it? Being a duke without being discovered?”

Callum was filling a large pot with water in the sink. He carried it over to the stove and placed the lid carefully atop it before he turned to face her.