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“Come back home. But, Mo-o-m...”
“Correct. You come home. I didn’t know where you were. I was worried.”
“I’m sorry,” Connor mumbled before he flashed his mother a smile. “But aren’t you glad we’re not having sandwiches again?”
Brooke quickly got up. “That’s enough, Connor. Do you know how many kids don’t have any food?”
“Yeah, I know. But—”
“But nothing. You’ll apologize to Uncle Gavin for bothering him.”
“But Grandma said Uncle Gavin is a marvelous cook,” Connor said. “So I thought it would be nice to have someone who is a marvelous cook, cook for us. And you’re working so hard—aren’t you glad?”
Brooke’s mouth twitched. Connor had perfectly mimicked his grandma’s “marvelous.”
Gavin had to swallow his own grin. “It’s really no bother. I have to eat anyway.” He gave Connor a wink.
Connor grinned. “See? He’s not bothered. Can I go and play until we eat, Mom?”
“May I,” Brooke corrected him.
“May I?” He grinned cheekily.
“Yes, go play, but you and I are going to have another conversation about this.”
“But only after we’ve eaten, please?”
Brooke burst out laughing and hugged her son. “Yes, sweetie, we’ll eat first.”
Gavin turned away. Brooke laughed easily and often. It was one of the first things he’d noticed about her. One of her smiles always seemed to light up a room. And her gorgeous legs had led to a number of near-embarrassing moments for him.
Connor left, and after a few minutes, Gavin saw Brooke fidgeting. It was clear she was very uncomfortable having him in her kitchen. Interesting. Normally, she seemed unfazed. He’d been to her house before, although this was the first time neither of his sisters was with him. Could that be the reason why?
He set the oven to broil and took out the meat. “A small saucepan?” he asked.
Wordlessly, she handed him one.
“This looks brand new,” he said, putting it over an open flame.
“Not quite,” she said. “I don’t...okay, I don’t cook. I can’t cook. I don’t think I’ve ever used that. Happy?”
Grinning, he opened the bottle of bourbon he’d bought, poured a quarter of a cup into the saucepan, added brown sugar, mustard, and garlic. While he waited for the ingredients to boil, he looked at Brooke. “This isn’t a competition.”
She’d moved closer and was watching his every move. “Tell me what you’re doing. It smells divine.”
“It’s a very easy recipe. You stir these ingredients until it boils...” He kept stirring for a while. “There it is—then you turn down the heat and let it simmer for a while until it thickens slightly.”
“Where did you learn to cook?”
“When our parents died, Charlie and Lindsay were in their early twenties and still studying. I tried to make things easy for them when they came home over weekends and holidays. I didn’t realize how much I’d picked up from our mom—she was a great cook. Once I started, I discovered I love to cook.”
Brooke grinned. “Well, that explains it. My mom, as everyone knows, is a terrible cook. In our house, my dad was the one who made sure we had something to eat, but after he passed away, we were basically raised on sandwiches. I make a mean sandwich if you ever want one.”
“I’ll remember that.” He smiled. “Your mom has other strengths, though. She’s a great artist, like you are. We all have our strengths and weaknesses.” He motioned toward the oven. “It’s going to take a few minutes to grill the chops. Why don’t you show me your new painting?”
“No!” she called out before she turned away quickly. “What about wine? I have a bottle of Chardonnay...”
“I’ve also brought a bottle of wine, but yeah, thanks, a glass of Chardonnay sounds lovely. Why don’t you want me to see your p—?”
