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I went back inside, added wood to the fireplace, then went upstairs to wash off the bar fight and the hint of lemons that I couldn’t get out of my senses. Spring was supposedly here according to the calendar, but there was still a chill to the upstairs. I was still renovating the second level, but downstairs was insulated to the hilt and the fireplace kept it warm.
Instead of getting dressed again, I dragged on a pair of sweatpants and padded down the circular stone staircase. I was hungry and cooking evened me out. And because I’d been denied the pub food I’d been looking forward to, that would be on the menu.
“Hey Siri, play my cooking playlist.”
The watery tones of Hozier filled the downstairs. Because my best friend was who he was, I was privy to all the toys in his arsenal. Including a sweet speaker set up that was built into the two sheetrocked walls. The rest was stone that I’d salvaged from the original house and from a few local quarries.
With the fire crackling and steak searing in the perfectly seasoned cast iron pan, I pushed away thoughts of chaos—both situational and a certain redhead.
She’d been a surprise tonight and I wasn’t fond of those either. In fact, it was more of a full-on hate kind of deal. Instead of letting thoughts of Willow Doyle in my head again, I smashed garlic on my cutting board with the side of my knife.
I made a paste with a few more herbs then dumped it all into my miniature processor with some butter. Once the steak was seared, I threw it under the broiler to cook and set my phone’s timer. As I was scrubbing a potato, there was a knock at my door.
I grabbed a towel. Dammit, if Clay was stopping by to give me shit about fittings again, I’d punch him. And double dammit, I forgot to use a bag of frozen peas on my knuckles.
Slowing, I frowned. Clay wouldn’t knock—or if he did, it would be directly followed by him walking in.
Nor did he make kissy noises at Midnight.
I opened the door and my whole body tightened. The golden glow of my porch light made Willow’s auburn hair into a fiery cloud around her slim shoulders. She was draped over Midnight, her wild curls mixing with his dense black and gray fur.
“Who’s the sweetest boy? Areyouthe sweetest boy? How are you owned by Mr. No Personality?”
“What are you doing here, Chaos?”
She looked up with her cheek next to Midnight’s blunt snout, his big spotted tongue lolling out in pure euphoria. “Hello to you too.”
“No dart boards here. Go home.”
She straightened and the dog leaned on her hard enough to knock her sideways a step. She giggled and dropped her hand on his massive head. “At least he likes me.”
“He also thinks his water dish is a Frisbee.”
She dug her long fingers into his thick fur. My dick thought about twitching, but I remembered I was going commando and breathed through the thought. Sweatpants hid nothing.
She rubbed his ears until the dog gave another joyful moan. “He doesn’t even get you a toy?”
Midnight’s jet eyes looked up at her adoringly.
Of course I didn’t get him a toy. He wasn’t my damn dog.
My fingers gripped the edge of my heavy door. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”
“Your place is hard to find.”
Her gaze tracked to my chest, but it immediately bounced back up to my face. Was that a bit of pink under all those freckles?
“On purpose.” My tone was flat and harsh, but I didn’t want her in my space. I didn’t wantanyonein my space, but she was top of the list.
She pushed by me, her denim jacket brushing against my belly as she let herself in, her lemon scent now back in my head again.
“Luckily for me, Beckett told me where you lived. And helped me when I got lost—twice.”
“Remind me to rip Beckett’s tongue out.”
She threw a quick grin over her shoulder. “What smells so good?”
“My dinner.”
