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“Hi,” she said with a bright smile that made me light up from the inside. She held up a bottle of wine. “A host gift.”
I took it from her. “Thank you.”
I glanced at the label. It was a good vintage—she’d gone out of her way to find something with good taste.
Everything about her was thoughtful and classy.
“Come in,” I said and led her into my house.
She looked around, and I tried to see my place through her eyes. The mansion was excessive. I didn’t need all of it, but I had the money, so I’d always figured, why not? It was a space for my pack to be if they needed it—so many times, the shifters needed a space to hide, even if it was from themselves. I loved my home, and it had been a hell of a job to get someone to decorate it just right.
“This place is great,” Rory said.
If she liked this place, well, maybe she would want to spend more time with me here.
Maybe she would want to spend forever here.
I shoved the thoughts away. What was up with me and thinking shit like that?!
“What are you making?” Rory asked. “It smells…” I didn’t know what she had meant to say, but she crinkled her nose. “Like it’s burning.”
“Shit.” I put the bottle of wine down, running to the kitchen. “Fuck.” I opened the oven where I’d had a whole chicken.
The bird came out a dark brown, rather than golden, and the sauce and vegetables around it had charred and clung to the bottom of the pot.
“Well, that’s a fuck up,” I lamented, putting the whole dish on the counter.
Rory followed me into the kitchen. Her eyes danced with amusement.
“We can order in,” she suggested.
“I was going to cook for you,” I said with disappointment lacing my words.
I’d put everything in the same pot, hoping that it would be easier to do that way. It was the perfect example of not putting my eggs in one basket.
Rory smiled. “It’s the thought that counts, right?”
I nodded. That would have to be enough. “What do you want to order?”
“Do you have a good Chinese place?” she asked.
I grinned at her. “Yeah, we do actually have a great Chinese place close by that delivers.”
“Well, then,” Rory said. Her eyes slid to my coffeemaker. “Oh, I have one of these at home.”
“I barely use it.”
“It still has the tape over the switches,” Rory laughed.
I smiled, sheepish. “Okay, I’ve never used it.”
“It’sdivine,” she said. “I miss mine. The one at the house is nice, but it doesn’t make hot cocoa, and I have a thing for chocolate.”
Mental note made.
Rory looked at the burned chicken again before looking at me, and I stared into her eyes. They were bright and open and danced with laughter. A smile played around her mouth. “Maybe you should throw that out before the whole house smells like smoke.”
“Good call.”
