Page 11 of The Grump I Got Stuck With

I threw the glass door open with so much force I thought it would shatter, grabbing a towel and hooking it around my waist as I raced down the hall. I practically leaped down the flight of stairs like some sort of jungle cat as I followed the acrid smell of smoke.

I burst into the kitchen, the water in my hair and the rivulets sluicing down my chest turning icy, causing my skin to pebble with goosebumps. “What the bloody hell is going on?” I demanded over the wail of the alarm.

Madison stood at the range, wafting smoke out of her face as she prodded at a cast iron pan with a giant spatula. Princess danced at her feet, barking and whining incessantly in a way that was almost worse than the alarm. When the dog noticed me, she bared those tiny teeth. I ignored her, my eyes darting back and forth, my lip curling back in disgust. There was flour and batter and bowls and kitchen utensils covering every inch of the island from one end to the other.

And it was a big island.

Madison coughed and turned to me, mouth open to explain. Then she actually looked at my still-wet, practically naked body in the middle of the kitchen, and the only thing that came out of her mouth was gaaahh.

That wasn’t the explanation I wanted. “Well?”

“Er, um…” She flushed darker and darker as her eyes danced over me, lingering on that towel slung low around my hips. Her face went so red I could have cooked an egg on it. “I was trying to, well…”

“Yes?” I said, waiting for her to spit it out.

She finally managed to tear her eyes away and retrieved something that resembled a brick from the frying pan. The thing was so blackened it looked like it had been cooked inside a volcano.

“What is that?” I asked, horrified.

“It’s supposed to be french toast,” she said, a little disappointed. “It’s what my family always had for breakfast on Christmas morning when I was growing up.”

“It looks like a biohazard.”

She gave me a flat, unimpressed look over her shoulder. “Well, despite you being the picture of charm last night,” she muttered sarcastically. “I thought I should still do something to thank you for letting me stay.”

“So instead of simply trespassing in my home, you’re now trying to burn it down?” I quipped.

Madison sucked in a sharp breath through her nose, her posture tightening. The piece of charbroiled toast slipped from the spatula, landing on the floor with an alarming thunk. “Princess, no!” she cried, diving after the toast. “Don’t eat that.”

While she wrestled the world’s most toxic toast from the Yorkie, I grabbed a dish towel from the counter and wafted it beneath the smoke alarm, trying to get the racket to stop. A shrieking alarm was not how I wanted Kenna to start her Christmas morning. I could only hope she was sleeping hard enough that she hadn’t heard it.

It was still wailing like a banshee, and I gritted my teeth, stretching up on my toes to get closer to the sensor. When it finally turned off, I returned the dish towel to the counter. I glanced over at Madison to find her staring at me—or, more specifically, at my towel—like she was hoping it might just spontaneously slip off my hips. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, her gaze lost somewhere in thought as she clutched the blackened toast in her hand.

A smirk curled across my face. I couldn’t help preening a little, in spite of myself, at the way she couldn’t tear her eyes away from my body. It didn’t mean I liked her or wanted her to be attracted to me. But I was still a man, and it was a little nice to have the results of my workout regime appreciated by a beautiful woman. Because despite being the most infuriating woman I’d ever met, I had to admit she was most definitely a beautiful woman. I cleared my throat, ignoring the heat in my chest. If nothing else, I was glad I hadn’t completely let myself go during the stress of the trial last year.

“How many pieces do you want?” Madison asked, bringing my thoughts crashing back to reality.

“I hope you don’t actually expect us to eat that,” I said to her.

“Well, obviously not that first piece,” she said, getting snippy. “It’s these fancy UK appliances that have me all tripped up.”

“It’s a gas range,” I said, inching a little closer to the hob to make sure it was off. “They also have those in America. It’s not rocket science.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically, her entire head moving. “Excuse me for having a regular old electric stove in my apartment. Not all of us are gas range experts.”

“I’m not claiming to be an expert myself—I usually let our housekeeper deal with the meals. But I think I still know enough to tell when something has finished cooking.”

“Maybe she can show me how it works,” Madison remarked, ignoring my jab.

“She won’t be in today,” I said. Florence had texted me right before I’d gotten in the shower to let me know. “She said the road out to the estate is almost impassable.”

Madison’s face fell, her shoulders sagging with disappointment. “I’ve avoided looking out the windows this morning for that exact reason. I was hoping for a Christmas miracle.”

Well, I hadn’t avoided it, and I’d immediately known the snow was far too deep for my car to maneuver, so there was no way I was getting her to town until a gritter came through. But that was a later concern. Right now, I was more alarmed by the mess she’d made. Without Florence, this was a distinctly me problem, and I grimaced. “Exactly how many bowls does it take to dip a piece of bread into some egg?”

Madison crossed her arms. “The polite thing to say would be thank you.”

“For nearly burning down my house? Not sure why you’d expect me to be grateful for that.” I took hold of the towel around my waist, feeling the material slip. “Just don’t touch anything else until I come back down. I’m going to change.”