Page 50 of Her Age Gap Match

Her eyes found mine. “One specific woman, I hope?”

I chuckled and went to the fireplace to get it started.

Poppy was in the kitchen now, opening up the fridge. “I’m starving,” she murmured. “And—you have real food?”

“I have a nice lady from town deliver groceries once a week and stock up,” I said, stacking wood in the hearth. “Pay her well to keep an eye on the place.”

“What’s town like?”

“Small, cozy, friendly.” I paused. “They don’t know much about me, other than that I bring rich tourists through every so often. Might be less charitable if they knew about my past.”

Poppy was quiet for a moment, moving things around in the fridge.

"Do you worry about that?" she asked. "People finding out?"

"Used to," I said. The fire was catching now, the kindling taking. "Less now. The people who matter already know.”

“And who’s that?”

“Just a select few,” I said. “Elle. Kim. The boys.” I glanced back at her. “You.”

She smiled over at me, looking up from where she was already cutting a block of cheese on a wooden cutting board, making herself at home. She popped a piece in her mouth.

“It never bothered me,” she said. “Gave you…texture.”

I stood and walked toward her. “I think you liked it.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Is that so?”

“Mmhm.” Boxed her in against the counter, hands on either side of her. “I think…obviously I don’t have a file on you like you do on me—but I think you like an element of danger. Good girl like you needs a little bad in her life.”

“Hey, you don’t know everything about me,” she laughed under her breath. “Maybe I have some dark past…like I was part of a heist crew.”

“Right.”

“Picture this,” she said. “Me and ten other people, very attractive, coordinated outfits, robbing a casino in Vegas.”

“That’s the plot of Ocean’s Eleven.” I reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You have a plant named George. You’re not robbing anyone.”

“Fair enough,” she laughed, her whole face lighting up. “Fine…you’re onto me. I’m not part of a heist crew. Just fun to play at it.”

She paused, biting her lip.

“But—how about tonight you just let me play your wife?”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Tell me more.”

“Let me cook for you,” she said, shrugging one shoulder. “Clothes…optional?”

“Not gonna say no to that.”

I leaned down and kissed her once, slow. "I'll open a bottle of wine."

She smiled against my mouth.

I stepped back and let her have the kitchen, pulling the Traverse City red from the rack—a different bottle than the one I'd opened at the Bridgeport apartment, older vintage, one I'd been saving without knowing what for. I poured two glasses and set hers on the counter beside her.

“What are you making?” I asked.