Page 82 of She Was Made for Me

I suck in a breath, bolting up, wondering where I am. Through bleary eyes I see Kyle, perched beside me with an amused smile.

Right. I’m on his bed, in his cabin.

“Sorry.” I rub my eyes. “I must have dozed off.”

“I’m not surprised,” he says affectionately. “It was a long drive, and you’ve worked your ass off the past couple days. And let’s face it, this bed is a lot more comfortable than the air mattress.”

I stretch and yawn, my nose picking up the scent of food. My stomach rumbles and I’m suddenly famished. “You mentioned something about dinner?”

Kyle rises to his feet with a chuckle. “Yep. It’s downstairs.” I stand too, and he pulls me close, brushing his mouth over mine. “Having you here, in my bedroom…” He shakes his head. “It feels too good to be true.”

I grin, leaning into him. “I can assure you, it’s not. And as soon as you’ve fed me, I’ll make that very clear.”

Heat simmers in his gaze, but he steps back and motions to the stairs, clearly fighting the urge to skip dinner and go straight to bed. I follow him across the loft, watching him duck in what I can only assume is a habit. With his height and the slope of the roof rafters, it wouldn’t take much for him to smack his head.

Downstairs, he leads me out onto the screened-in porch where he’s set up dinner, laid out with candles that flicker in the warm evening breeze. He’s crammed the table with dishes, and I cast my eyes over the spread in wonder.

“What is all this?”

“Ceviche, cilantro-lime rice, tostadas, salsa, and guac,” he says, boyishly proud of his efforts.

My heart does a back flip as I glance from him to the food. No man has ever cooked for me like this before. If it tastes half as good as it looks, I might have to keep him.

He hands me a glass with a grin. “And a mojito,” he adds, clinking his glass against mine. I take a sip, the minty-lime flavor waking my taste buds.

“Wow, that’s good.” I take another long pull, and Kyle’s grin tugs wider.

“Thanks. I have mint growing here, so I like to use it.”

He can build houses, cook, and use fresh, home-grown produce to create mouth-watering cocktails. And that’s before we even get to the part about him being a stern brunch daddy (thanks, Sadie).

I’m well and truly fucking screwed.

He motions for me to sit at the table and I do, watching as he serves up the meal.

“Ideally the ceviche would be made with fish I’d caught myself,” Kyle says, setting a plate in front of me. “But the market catch is fresh today, so it’s the next best thing.”

I remember him saying he likes to fish. And he plays guitar. And then there was that whole law career he used to have. I marvel at this man before me, seeing him in a new light. Is there anything he can’t do?

We tuck into our meal and I groan my appreciation as the fresh, zesty flavors explode on my tongue. The food is so good that I can’t even pause to tell him, I just shovel it into my mouth before reaching for seconds. He watches me devour his efforts with a satisfied smile, his eyes sparkling as he sips his mojito.

Once I’m full, I push my plate away with a contented sigh. “Oh my God, that was so good.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” He shakes his head, his mouth curved in amusement. “I’ve never seen you eat like that.”

An embarrassed laugh slips from me as I wipe my mouth with my napkin. “Maybe I would if you cooked for me every night.”

“I wish I could.” The humor fades from his expression, his eyes piercing mine in the flickering light of the candles. My pulse skitters at the suggestion in his words, because how amazing would that be, spending every night with him? The food, sure, buthim—being with him, for real.

Could that ever be a reality for us?

I swallow, leaning over to kiss his cheek, but a buzz in my pocket stops me short. I don’t want anything to interrupt the perfection of this moment, but habit has me pulling my phone out to check anyway. My eyebrows jump when I see who the text is from.

Deb: Hey, Vi! Hope you’re well. Just want you to know the letter of recommendation helped a lot. We should hear in the next week or two. I’ve got a good feeling about this!

I slide my phone away with a frown. Instead of the shot of elation I expect to feel, my stomach gives a nervous, uneasy ripple. For the first time I can honestly say that the thought of going back to my old life doesn’t make me excited in the slightest. Sitting out on Kyle’s screened-in porch, drinking mojitos and watching the sky fade from a cloud-studded purple canopy to a jet-black abyss shot through with stars, I feel a million miles away from that life. From the person I was in that life. When this project wraps up, I’m supposed to go back to it. I have my car and my apartment and now I might even have my dream job waiting for me.

But what if I don’t want that anymore? What if what I want is everything I’ve had over the last month? Work, sure, but finding satisfaction in doing less of it, and balancing it out with more of everything else, including this man beside me. Would that ever be possible? Does he want that too, and more to the point, could we find a way to make it work with Dad?

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