Page 35 of Never In My Wildest Dreams

“There wasn’t much to begin with. People hear about storms, and they stock up. I grabbed whatever shit I could find.”

She pulled out a wheel of Brie. “You got some good shit.”

He grinned. “I like food.”

What do I even like?Until this past summer at the music festival when she’d treated herself to the Singing Baker’s luscious pastries, she hadn’t paid attention. In the cabin, she’d indulged her secret fantasy of gift baskets.

She’d given loads of them throughout her career—to people around the globe who helped make her tours go smoothly—and she’d always wanted to know what those breadsticks and cookies tasted like.

Turns out…meh. They sure didn’t compare to Slick’s scrambled eggs.

“You’re doing it again.” His voice cut through her thoughts.

“Doing what?”

“You get this crease.” He rubbed a finger between her eyebrows. “Right here. You’re overthinking again.”

“Hey, I’ve been alone for three months.” Her breath came out all soft and breathy. Which was weird. She didn’t get all flustered around men. But this man…with his blond hair and green eyes…this man stole the air right out of her lungs. “You don’t want me overthinking, then don’t leave me alone with my thoughts. Keep me busy.”

“All right. You put the groceries away while I make the coffee.” He strode out to the dining room table and grabbed his mug, dumping the dark liquid into the sink. “You’re going to see the difference in about ten minutes. Grinding your own beans releases the oils. Hands down, it tastes better.”

“I believe you.” Her chef used to make it for her every day. “So, who taught you how to cook?”

“My dad was a foodie, so we ate well. Whenever we traveled, he’d look up the good places to eat. And I don’t mean Michelin-starred restaurants. I mean food trucks and little holes-in-the-wall.” He stopped and rubbed her forehead again. “What did I say?”

She liked that he read her so easily. It meant he paid attention. He cared. “No, it’s nothing. It’s just that I’ve traveled a lot.” Around the world, in fact. “But I was always watching my weight or rushing somewhere.” Mostly, they’d had meals delivered to the tour bus or they ate room service. “I missed a lot of opportunities to try some interesting food.” She could do that now. Instead of holing up in a cabin in the woods, she could travel. She’d research museums and restaurants and all the things that made towns and cities unique. “You learned to love food from him, but what about actually cooking? Those seem like two different things.”

“My dad cared about every bite of food that went into his mouth.” He got this look, like he’d slipped away, lost in a sweet memory. “He wouldn’t buy me store-bought cookies. We’d make them together.”

“So, maybe it was less about cooking than spending time with his son.”

He stilled. Lowering his wrists to the counter, he gazed out the window at the snowy landscape. “You’re probably right about that. Even as a little kid, I’d stand on a chair and dump the chocolate chips into the mixing bowl. I’d beat the eggs and shred the cheese for my dad.” His jaw slammed shut, and he swallowed. His gaze cut away.

He kept talking about his dad in the past tense, and that broke her heart. She turned to him. Cupping his cheek, she brushed her thumb over it, as if she could soothe away the painful emotion. “Sounds like he was a wonderful dad.”

“Yeah.” He twisted away from her and pulled down two clean mugs from the cabinet. “He was.” Finally, he looked at her. “Sugar? Milk?”

“Yes, but I got it.” She grabbed the milk from the fridge. “Can I ask what happened to him?”

He pushed the handle down slowly, smashing the ground beans to the bottom and leaving the liquid isolated above. “He died.”

“I’m so sorry. You were obviously close.”

“Yeah.” He lowered his chin. “I miss him. He was a good guy. He taught me to be a good man.”

“Oh, believe me, I can see that. Last night, you could have easily made me sleep on the couch.”

“Hypothermia, remember?”

“Listen, Slick, you were so exhausted, you could’ve fallen asleep and not given me a second thought. But you didn’t do that. You stayed awake until you knew I felt comfortable with you.” She gestured to the living room. “For goodness’ sake, I’m squatting in your home, and you got me aChristmas tree. So, when you miss him, just remember he’s still inside you. You’re the man he wanted you to be.”

“That’s…” Stepping back, he lowered his head between his arms. “Fuck. That’s really nice to hear.”

“I’ll bet he’s the reason you’re so competent. Was he the kind of dad who knew what to do in a crisis? Was he the handyman in the house? Dripping faucet… Dad? Spider on the wall.Dad!”

He grinned. “Yeah, he was.”

“See, you’ve got that part of him, too.”

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