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I pull the strap of my overnight bag tighter against my shoulder when I finally summon the courage to ring the doorbell, having packed only the essentials to get me through the night until everything else gets here tomorrow. Suddenly it’s hitting me that I will belivingwith virtual strangers, and what if Aidenissome kind of weirdo?
God.
I try to fish my phone out of my pocket to let Wanda know I’ve made it, managing to pull it halfway out before my bag slips from my shoulder and onto the ground, the only half-zipped opening allowing for some of my stuff to spill out onto the porch. I drop to my knees to start scooping the scattered items back in, thinking that this is the last thing I need, for my new boss to find me picking up my underwear outside his front door.
“Fuck, fuck,fuck.”
And because the universe is a fickle bitch, this is exactly how Aiden Reid finds me. In the middle of a personal fiasco, cursing on his porch and holding my underwear. But then again, judging by the splotches of flour covering his black (fitted, it’s very fitted) T-shirt and matching black apron and even higher on his cheeks, not to mention the sticky... something that is dripping down the front of his pants (less fitted, but no less distracting), I think maybe this time we’re even.
“Are you”—my eyes take in his disheveled appearance—“okay?”
His eyes flick from my still-crouched form to the heart-patterned, neon-green underwear in my hand to my face. “Areyouokay?”
“Oh.” The back of my neck heats as I hastily shove my underwear back into my bag, pulling the strap over my shoulder as I stand back up. “I’m fine. Just had an accident.” I’m actively choosing not to think about how Aiden just saw my underwear, pointing at the goop on his pants. “It looks like you had one too.”
Aiden makes a helpless face, and the quiet sigh that escapes him makes my stomach do something funny.
“Yeah.” He looks down at the mess on his shirt before giving me a sheepish grin. “Do you...” He bites his lip. I mustn’t dwell on this. “Do you happen to know anything about pancakes?”
“Pancakes?”
Aiden jerks his head in a nod, gesturing to the staircase behind him. “Come on up.”
I follow him out of the entryway and up the stairs to the second level, the top of the stairs spilling out into what seems to be the main living area and kitchen. I recognize a little girl at the counter in the kitchen as we approach, her hair the same shade as Aiden’s and her mouth pressed into a full pout. She looks terser than she did on Aiden’s Facebook. I also notice that the mess on Aiden’s shirt and pants extends to the kitchen floor and half of the countertop.
“We, ah... wanted to do something nice for you,” Aiden tells me. “For your first day here.”
“Dadwanted to,” the little girl grouses from her place at the counter, just loud enough for me to catch it.
Aiden shoots her a stern look. It looks good on him. I mustn’t dwell on this either. “Wethought you might like pancakes, but, ah... This is embarrassing.”
“You seem to be having some trouble,” I point out with amusement. “I’ve never seen such a mess over pancakes.”
Aiden looks at his feet like a child who’s broken his mother’s vase and is reluctant to tell her. “I dropped the bowl of batter. It’s a disaster in here.”
“I can”—I let my eyes sweep down the front of him again, for purely investigative purposes, of course—“see that.”
“I’m... not very good at making pancakes,” he admits, almost like it pains him.
I cock my head. “Aren’t you a chef?”
“There are no pancakes on my menu.” His mouth does something that is dangerously close to a pout, and it shouldn’t work for a man his size, but it weirdly does. “Sophie says she doesn’t like them, but I’m pretty sure she just doesn’t likemine,so it’s personal now. I was trying a new recipe, but...” He gestures to the mess. “Obviously, it didn’t turn out the way I hoped.”
I flash him a grin, realizing he reallydoesneed some help. “Whew, boy.”
I drop my bag by the stairs as I take in the space. The kitchen is sleek and modern with black cabinets and a gray marble countertop—everything you might expect from an upscale house in this part of town. The tiles are a similar shade of gray, maybe lighter, going all the way to the edge of the open living room just beyond where it blends into soft-looking gray carpet that rests under black leather furniture.
I’m gathering Aiden isn’t very big on color here.
“This is a nice place,” I tell him. “I like what you’ve done with the, ah... color scheme.”
I peek back to find Aiden frowning. “I... like black.”
“I would have absolutely never guessed,” I tease. It dawns on me that he’s still covered in goo. “Right. Pancakes.” I scan the kitchen, searching. “Do you have another apron?”
Aiden rushes to a tall, slim cabinet just beside the black stainless steel fridge to pull out a (surprise) black apron. I throw it overmy head, reaching behind me to tie the strings as I flash a smile toward the girl, who is still silently sizing me up at the counter.
“You must be Sophie,” I try. “I’m Cassie.”
