Page 63 of Passion in Bloom

Chapter 22

Roarke

Heather let me havethe spare key to her cabin since she said she’d be at the bank sort of later than usual. It felt strange to let myself into her place without her there. She’d shown me how much she valued her privacy that it still felt like trespassing. Even though she gave me her key and the permission to stay there, I was careful not to mess with her things. Snooping didn’t enter my mind. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t snoop for clues about her past if I wanted to start this relationship with her on a good note. A lasting commitment couldn’t be founded in lies and lack of trust.

Trust was a slow going with her, but I was confident she would continue to open up to me and make herself more available to me emotionally the longer we did this at her pace.

I doubted she had anything of a valuable clue tucked away. She didn’t have many things here, not a materialistic hoarder of things.

Still, after I showered away the grime of the day’s work and then considered the options in her small kitchenette, I wanted to make this feel like a home for the night.

She didn’t stock too many things in her kitchenette, perhaps because she didn’t have enough room to store many staples, but I wanted to make her dinner. Once the idea got into my head, I couldn’t shake it off. So, I got my boots and coat back on and headed to the food mart. Grabbing the basics for a simple dinner that I felt I wouldn’t screw up, I wondered how she’d react.

If this would be taken as a bold move. If she’d be intimidated by my good gesture and worry that I was “butting in” or taking too many liberties.

Hell. I need to eat too.

Since I’m staying there, I’m making myself dinner. And making sure there is enough for her too.

That would be a loophole out of any concerns she might have about my overstepping or anything like that.

A couple of hours later, I doubted myself. Smoke seemed to rise too quickly from the stove, and I wasn’t sure if I added enough seasoning to the sauce. Spaghetti wasn’t that fancy of a meal, but I didn’t want it to be completely bland.

Before I got any more lost and worried that I was botching it all with my rudimentary cooking skills, she came home.

“Something smells...um...” She scrunched her face, crinkling her nose as she shut the front door.

“Good? Please say something smells good.” I turned back to the stove. How damn hard is it to brown meat?

“It doesn’t smell bad,” she said, approaching me after she slung her coat over the back of the chair I sat in that one memorable afternoon here.

“That’s a start.”

She leaned around me, wrapping her arms in a loose circle over my sides. “I think you’re supposed to use more oil in the pan though.”

I grabbed the bottle of olive oil. “You think?”

She nodded, resting her cheek on my arm. “I won’t claim to know.”

I laughed, loving that she was just as mildly clueless as I was. “Not a cook?”

“No. I mean, I can be, I guess, but I like to order out or just make eggs. Simple stuff.”

“Me too.”

She laughed once. “Then what’s all this?”

“This,” I said as I reached for the dials to turn the burners off, realizing the meat was definitely too burned to taste good now, “was my attempt at making dinner for us.”

“Hmmm. Cute.” She slipped around me, turning the burners back on to salvage it with more oil and shoving the meat around. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” I said as I took her previous spot. Taller than her, I could stand behind her with my arms wrapped around her, her back to my chest. As she tried to pick up where I’d given up on the food, I nuzzled the side of her neck. “I was thinking that I could welcome you home from a long day of work with a nice meal to relax to.”

“It sounds nice...”

I laughed, leaning in to kiss lower down her neck, toward her shoulder. “Is that something like saying it’s the thought that counts?”

“The thought always counts,” she teased right back, reaching for the pot of noodles that were stuck and congealed in a mess on the bottom.