Page 240 of That Rush

“Yeah.” His smile returns. “That’s probably more likely.”

Aiden helps me carry the dishes inside and puts each one where I direct. Once we’ve restored the room, he picks the blue star from the desk and presses it onto my chest.

“Very official,” he says.

“I earned it.”

“You did.”

His fingers linger near the neckline of my dress. Heat follows the slow drag of his gaze, but he steps back instead of deciding what comes after the party.

“Where do you want to spend the rest of Friday?”

“The cabin,” I say.

Aiden’s gaze moves from the blue star on my dress to my face. “Your cabin?”

“Yes. Is there another one you’ve been visiting on Fridays?”

“None I’m willing to admit to while you’re holding a plate.”

I set the plate on the desk. “Good answer.”

His hands find my waist, the touch familiar but questioning. “Are we taking one truck?”

The question hangs in the air, heavier than it should be. He’s asking if tonight ends with one set of keys.

“Mine,” I say. “You drove Josie here.”

“Josie went home with my parents.”

“Then mine anyway.”

His smile comes slowly. “Yes, ma’am.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Aiden carries the leftover cupcakes into my cabin while I lock the front door behind us. The porch light spills through the windows. My book remains facedown beside the couch where I left it yesterday, and the blanket over the arm still holds the shape of a life that belonged entirely to me before he started showing up on Fridays.

It still belongs to me.

Now he knows where the plates go.

Aiden puts the cupcakes in the refrigerator without asking. “I’m learning.”

“You’ve visited enough to qualify for basic kitchen privileges.”

“Does that come with bedroom access?”

“That depends on your performance review.”

He turns and leans against the counter. His sleeves are pushed to his forearms, and his hair is a mess where Silas grabbed it. A faint streak of blue frosting marks his wrist.

This man helped clean my library, waited outside my locked door, rode home with me in my truck, and still manages to look like every indecent passage I have ever underlined.

“I want to spend more nights at the ranch,” I tell him.

The humor leaves his expression, replaced by a careful stillness, though he stays exactly where he is.

“I’m listening.”