Page 49 of One Wrong Move

Nate’s voice is muffled, but I hear the tension bleeding out in his tone. I stick my head over the threshold, looking out at the entryway. He’s on the phone.

He sees me. Nods once, his face tight.

I pop back into the kitchen. Despite his hushed speech, it’s hard not to catch snippets.

I thought you told him that was a nonstarter… What? We’ve never celebrated Easter together… Yes. It’s an option… I’ll consider it.

And then, much closer to the kitchen, the final words. Talk soon.

I quickly turn back to the open fridge and the bag of potatoes I’m holding. Behind me, footsteps echo down the hall, and then a surprised scoff.

“Did you empty Tesco?”

I close the fridge door. “Almost. I decided that if I’m going to… stay here longer, I should commit. And I’m tired of living off takeout.”

It’s expensive, too.

Nate nods and looks over the bags spread across his kitchen island. He’s in a suit, like always, but sans tie. His hair looks messier than usual, and there’s a tightness in his jaw, around his mouth, that I haven’t often seen.

“I promise I won’t burn down your kitchen. Again.”

“Go ahead. Torch it all.”

I reach for a bag of rice and frown at the bitterness in his voice. “Are you okay?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Of course.”

“You’ve been busy,” I say with a shrug. Opening one of the cabinets, I find the lower shelf completely empty. Great. “Out of the house a lot.”

“Yeah. Things have been intense at work.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No,” he says simply. But it doesn’t sound like a refusal. More like honesty. “You bought… what’s this?”

I look over to where Nate Connovan is standing, in the beautiful luxury kitchen, holding up a turnip. Looking nothing like his normal charming self.

I can’t help but laugh.

“What,” he says. “Is it obvious?”

“Let’s just say, I think it’s pretty clear you don’t cook a lot.”

“If that only struck you now, you haven’t seen how empty my fridge is.” He turns the root over. “A confused carrot?”

“A turnip,” I clarify. “Throw it here.”

He lifts an eyebrow but does what I’ve asked, tossing the turnip over the counter. I catch it and smile at him. “I’m going to roast veggies and chicken for dinner tonight. Want some?”

Now both his eyebrows rise. There’s a short pause where I’m sure he’ll say no, but then he nods. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

He leans both hands against the island. “Are you planning on feeding an army I don’t know about?”

“No, but I am planning on meal prepping.” I hold the turnip up in his direction, like the world's non-pointiest weapon. “Speaking of meal prepping. Do you use some kind of delivery service for those breakfast spreads?”

His eyes narrow. “Yes. Would you like more of something?”

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