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“Twelve minutes?” He snorted. “Let me see that.” He grabbed the recipe from her hand.
“I followed the directions,” she insisted. Shit! Was she whining? Get a grip, Veronica. She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “The recipe said twelve minutes a side.”
She’d really wanted to impress him, even if only a little. But the only thing impressive about her was her outfit—and she hadn’t even coordinated that on her own.
He gave a hearty, sexy laugh. “Take a closer look at the recipe.” He held it up and pointed to the twelve. The longer she peered at it, the more her stomach turned with embarrassment.
She flicked at the paper, and the number one flew to the kitchen floor. She cursed under her breath. “Two minutes a side.”
Way ahead of her, Finn turned off the gas and pulled the pan off the burner.
She’d known this kitchen was a waste. Even the appliances laughed at her every time she touched them.
She groaned. “What am I supposed to do now? I’ve got scampi but no shrimp.”
He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. We can just order in.”
“No!” She turned and grabbed the edges of the counter. “I wanted to cook for you.”
After a long pause, he finally spoke. “I think you should just stick with stripping. Clearly it’s your niche.”
She blinked, then a laugh burst out of her. He’d always known just what to say to make her feel better. Even when she screwed up, and in the most stupid ways, he’d always had the ability to make her feel steady. Or when the world was spinning out of control. Like when she had been taken away from everything she’d known and sent to live with strangers…he was the one who had talked her into giving it a try. On that day, he’d promised he would visit her. And he had, with her brother and Cole in tow, even when they weren’t supposed to leave the confines of their group home.
“How do you always know exactly the right thing to say?”
He shrugged. “I don’t. I just…say whatever comes to mind.”
He didn’t give himself enough credit. He did know. And it wasn’t whatever came to mind. She’d seen him in action. With other foster kids, with his staff, with the kids in the program. He had a knack for taking people under his wing and showing them how to shine. That’s what made him special. How could he not know that?
“So, I’ve ruined dinner. What do you want to do?”
He walked by her on his way to the fridge. When he opened the door, he leaned against the edge, his perfect, hard ass on display, just begging for her to touch.
“Seriously, you have children living with you, and this is the barest fridge I’ve ever seen.”
She shrugged. “The freezer’s full.”
He shook his head and smiled. “Cream cheese and carrots.” He stared into the fridge for a minute. She knew the wheels were turning.
He headed to the pantry and rooted around, pulling out flour, sugar, and cinnamon. “How about we eat dessert first?”
She licked her lips. “Yes, please.”
He helped clean up the counter from her disastrous mess, then gathered all of the ingredients he needed. “Do you have a cake pan?”
She stood silent. She had no idea.
He laughed. “Can you look for one?”
She searched in the cupboard next to the stove and squealed from below as if she’d just won the million-dollar jackpot. “I found one!” She pulled out a nonstick cake pan still in the wrapping. Who knew?
When she placed it triumphantly on the counter, he shook his head with a smile. “What? I don’t bake. Sue me.”
“Come over here.” His simple command sent a shiver down her spine. “We’re goin
g to make a carrot cake.”
“Oh, yum.”
