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“Art therapy.”
He looked over his shoulder with a quickly fading grin. “Shit, for real?”
“Yep.”
“You doing better?”
“A bit, not much. You?”
Tate shrugged. “Only time will tell.” He turned in the doorway and froze. “I think you should’ve told your girl I was still here.”
I peeked over his shoulder to find Jana scrambling off the counter, butt naked, as she tried to cover herself with a kitchen towel and then an apron. “Shit! I thought…never mind. I need a minute, or a million, maybe just a rock to climb under.”
I grinned at her adorable awkwardness and Tate laughed. “We’ll be in the living room. Tate needs an accountant.”
She peeked up over the counter and grinned. “Really? Great! Just…go away please and thanks.” She sank back behind the counter, whispering curses to herself. She was fucking adorable.
“We’re in the living room,” I told her when Tate fell onto the couch, stifling a laugh. “Don’t embarrass her,” I warned.
Tate held his hands up in surrender. “Embarrass? I’m jealous as fuck there’s no beautiful woman waiting for me butt naked on a counter somewhere. I’ve been in prison for six years, dude.”
“You up for a party tonight?”
“Nope. Dinner?”
“You cooking?”
He shook his head. “You’re buying, big brother.”
“Gladly.” I meant it too. Now that Tate was back where he belonged, maybe I could finally move forward with my life.
Chapter 12
Jana
“You know how to cook?” I stood in my kitchen on Saturday afternoon, leaning against the counter while Max unpacked two paper sacks filled with groceries.
“Damn right I know how to cook, woman. How do you think I survived all these years?”
I grinned at his affronted look. “Aren’t there guys who’s only job is to feed you?” I bit back a laugh but the more offended he looked the funnier it all was.
“Wait until you eat it before commenting.” He puffed his chest out, broad shoulders taking up more room than necessary in my small kitchen. “You’ll not only love it, you’ll beg for the recipe.” He was so self-assured I felt my pussy tighten in anticipation.
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” Pushing off the counter, I went over to what could, generously, be called my wet bar. Really it was a hutch topped with bottles, and a drawer full of other cocktail making tools. “Can you at least tell me what we’re having so I can make us drinks?”
“Fish.”
I tapped my chin, fully aware of his gaze on me, and thought about what I could make. For a guy like Max it had to pack a punch but it couldn’t be too girly. “You’re not really a martini kind of guy and a V&T is too plain when I’ve got a handsome man cooking me dinner.”
“Just make something, woman.”
I grinned at him the smile he sent back nearly buckled my knees. I loved when Max smiled, it took the years of pain and war from his face, leaving nothing but a handsome carefree man. “I have just the drink,” I told him with a smile and started gathering ingredients.
“You’re a great cook and a bartender, why?”
I shrugged even though I knew what he was really asking. “A delicious meal can only be enhanced by the right cocktail.” It was a flippant answer and I could hear his frustrated sigh behind me. “You know why.”
“Seriously? Because of that fucking scar?”
