Page 69 of The Hollywood Switch-up

“You’re making that up.”

“I would never.” But his eyes were warm. His hand hadn’t moved from her hip. Something moved through her chest—not at the tease, but at how easy this felt. How much she wanted to stay in it.

The kitchen offered an escape. She padded across the tile. He followed, coffee beans already in hand, because of course he’d found them before she’d even thought to look.

He crossed to her. The coffee bag thumped softly against the counter as he set it down. A blue flame caught under the burner. “One of the few things still working,” he said, reaching for a dented metal moka pot.

“Spanish omelet okay?” He glanced at her as he set the pot on the flame.

She leaned on the counter, watching him crack eggs. “Where did Stefan Cruz learn to cook?”

His knife began chopping an onion in quick, confident strokes. “Mi Tita. Every morning at five, before the sun came up.” As he spoke, his accent deepened. “She always said a man who can’t feed himself isn’t a man at all, he’s just a boy waiting for a woman to take care of him.”

“What else do you cook?”

“Paella.” He pronounced it with a soft roll. “The real kind. Orange-wood fire, coals white-hot. You toast the rice in olive oil before the broth goes in, watch the saffron bloom from red to gold.” He glanced at her. “I’ll make it for you sometime.”

“Sometime,” she repeated.

The kitchen filled with the smell of butter and onions as he worked. She found herself talking without meaning to about Nanna’s chili, every Sunday in Wichita, Anneliese on a step stool, stirring the pot. How her sister had made five-alarm chili the night of her first callback, so hot it burned their mouths for days.

“After the funeral, she threw out Nanna’s recipe box.” Erika’s fingers traced patterns on the countertop. “I fished it out of the trash that night. But I’ve never made the chili.”

Stefan’s knife paused mid-chop. When he spoke, his voice was low. “She’s lucky to have you. Someone who salvages the parts she tries to throw away.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

He set down the knife and moved beside her, close enough that the heat of his skin reached her. “My Tita would rap my knuckles with her wooden spoon if she saw me cooking alone while company stands idle.” His hand found the small of her back, steering her gently toward the stove. “‘Even kings wash dishes in my kitchen,’ she’d say.”

He positioned himself behind her, his chest solid against her shoulder blades. When he reached around for the bowl of beaten eggs, his presence surrounded her, warm and steady.

“You crack the eggs,” he said, his breath stirring her hair. “I’ll handle the heat.”

She pressed the shell between her fingernails until it gave with a fine crack. His hand slid over hers, his callused palm rough against her knuckles.

“Gently,” he said. “Like this.”

The yolk dropped intact, golden and perfect, into the bowl. His thumb traced slow circles on her wrist.

She tilted her head. Gin and sandalwood and the fresh smell of his morning coffee. His breath caught, a hitch she felt rather than heard. Her phone shattered the moment. They jolted apart. The bowl clattered against the stove, egg white splattering.

Stefan glanced at the screen. “It’s Lily.” He tapped to answer, putting it on speaker. “Lily.”

“Oh, thank God.” Her voice crackled with static and unmistakable relief. “Are you two okay? Is Erika there?”

“I’m here.” Erika gripped the edge of the counter, reality rushing back in. “Is everyone off the island?”

“Everyone but you two. The dock’s gone, like, completely gone. The harbormaster says it’ll be four days minimum, maybe a week before they can get rescue boats out there.”

A week. Alone with him.

Stefan’s expression didn’t change, but his knuckles went white where they gripped the phone. “What about the photos?”

Silence stretched for a beat too long.

“It’s bad.” Lily’s voice dropped. “Hashtag Stennalise is trending worldwide. That hug after the pier jump, someone got video of you two by the pool yesterday, it’s everywhere. Olivia’s doing damage control, but . . .” She exhaled. “Anneliese saw. She’s not answering her phone.”

Her stomach dropped.