Page 94 of Big Dill

He casts me a quick glance over his shoulder as he feeds wood into the fireplace. “Still is.”

“Kind of a tight fit for a lumber-snack, don’t you think?” I tease.

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Fits one just fine.”

Is he saying he’s never shared it? My heart squeezes a little in my chest.

“I can’t be the first woman you’ve brought here, Brody,” I say carefully, glancing into the next room with the double bed. “What about Elise?”

“She wasn’t much into cottage life. She belongs in the city. That’s where she thrives.” He shrugs, closing the door on that discussion as he points to the doorway where I’m standing. “Jaxon takes that room. He loves it here.”

“Resistance is futile,” I mutter in my best robotic computer voice.

His lips twitch into a smirk, and he arches a brow. “You doing okay, Jami? Need a nap? A little rest before we go out?”

“Arse,” I shoot back, and he laughs, deep, easy, amused, at my use of Newfoundland vernacular. He crooks a finger toward me.

I walk back toward him, and he pulls a big recliner closer to the fire. “Get warm. I’ll empty the car.”

“So bossy,” I murmur as he heads outside. I think about offering to help, but remember how he loves doing things for me, and that’s enough for me to sink deeper into the chair, tucking my legs underneath me. The fire crackles, the warmth seeping through me, lulling me into drowsiness. Maybe a nap is a good idea.

A cold breeze drifts in as Brody comes and goes from the truck, bringing in groceries, a cooler, and his overnight bag. He really packed for a feast. Either he’s planning to keep me here, captive, or he just really likes cooking. I grin at the thought of him kidnapping me, letting the idea linger in my mind as my eyelids droop.

The smell of something sizzling wakes me. “Brody,” I blurt, suddenly sitting up straighter. “I fell asleep. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I had you up early to see the sunrise. I’m glad you got a fast nap in.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“Just an hour.”

I rub my eyes, glancing at the fire, which he must have fed while I napped. The flames dance warmly across the walls, casting a golden glow that makes everything—and him—look softer, more inviting.

“Hungry?” he asks, turning slightly, back to me now, flipping something in a pan.

“Not really, but whatever you’re making smells amazing.” My stomach gives a loud, undeniable grumble. I push from the chair and step closer. Without thinking, I wrap my hands around him, sliding against his back.

“Careful, babe. Don’t burn yourself,” he says, though his tone is teasing rather than stern.

“I won’t,” I murmur, leaning into him. My face presses against his flannel shirt, inhaling the warmth, the faint scent of wood smoke and him. This cottage, being here with him, it feels so…domesticated. Comforting. And a little dangerously intimate. I chuckle softly against his shoulder.

“Something funny?” he asks, voice low.

“Just thinking how much I like being here with you,” I admit.

“Resistance is futile, Little Birdie,” he murmurs, placing a hand over mine and giving it a squeeze.

“What are you making?” I ask, letting go to step beside him.

He grins over his shoulder. “Bologna.”

I crinkle my nose. “You’re frying bologna?”

“Yup. Grab some bread. Two slices per plate, for now,” he instructs.

“For now?”

“Yeah, they’re like potato chips, you can’t stop at just one. Jaxon once ate five of them in one sitting.”