Page 50 of Claim to Fame

“I want to. To apologize for yesterday.”

He startled. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“We were having a great day and then that thing happened with the woman and the camera—”

“Tisha.”

“Yeah, her. And I shut down and shut you out. That wasn’t fair.”

“You don’t need to apologize for protecting yourself,” he said, reaching for her hand. The anxious itch in his chest settled when she allowed him to lace their fingers together.

Let me know you.

Hannah stared at their interlocked hands for a moment. “I’d like to make you dinner, if that’s alright.”

“As long as it’s because you want to, and not because you think you have to.”

“I want to.”

Ethan nodded, taking all but the grocery bag from Hannah and carrying them to her room. “It was a successful shopping trip, I take it?” he called over his shoulder.

“Very.”

When Ethan returned to the kitchen, Hannah had gathered her hair into a loose bun, leaving the long line of her neck exposed as she unpacked her groceries. He wanted to track that line with his lips and bite the tender curve where her neck met her shoulder. But if this was going to work, if he was going to remind her how good they could be together, how good he could make her feel, he needed to choose his moment carefully. He suspected that the first time she’d spoken to him in twenty-four hours was not the time.

He unbuttoned the cuffs of his flannel shirt and began rolling up the sleeves. “Put me to work.”

She turned to look at him, her eyes snagging on his forearms as he rolled his sleeves to the elbow. Her pupils dilated and the corner of her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Ethan fought back a grin. Maybe he wouldn’t have to wait too long after all.

“What?” she asked, blinking away.

He crowded her against the counter. “Put me to work, Hannah. Tell me what you want me to do.”

She blinked again, her eyes heavy as they roamed over his face. He reached past her and snagged a sugar snap pea from the counter, biting into it as he took a step away, the crunch breaking her from his spell.

This is going to be fun.

“I’m no chef, but I can follow directions,” he said.

“Right.” She turned towards the counter, her hand hovering over the assembled ingredients. At last, she grabbed a small container of multicolored cherry tomatoes. “You can start by cutting these in half.”

When he took the tomatoes from her, he swore he could see a blush creeping up her throat. He grabbed a knife from the butcher block and settled at the island perpendicular to her so he could watch her as they worked. “Where did you learn to cook?” he asked.

“I watched a lot of cooking shows when I first moved to the City. It was more wish fulfillment than for educational purposes, but after a while, I realized I’d picked up a few things,” she said as she worked her knife through a pile of fresh herbs on the cutting board.

“Wish fulfillment?”

She stilled, the barest hint of hesitation, before she began moving again, her eyes focused on her cutting board. “Mmhmm. You know, some people watch the Travel Network and dream about going to Paris. I watched cooking shows and daydreamed about eating carbs.” She glanced at him, as though assessing how he had received this new information. “I didn’t eat carbs back then,” she explained in a quiet voice.

“Why not?”

She shrugged, moving the herbs into a little bowl at the edge of the counter and carefully removing a cod fillet from its butcher paper wrapping. Her movements were methodical, precise, as though she was pouring all her focus into them rather than answering his question. She stared at the fish, her brow wrinkled, and he got the feeling she wasn’t thinking about the fish at all. “Do you have any wine? White?” she asked at last.

“I own a vineyard. Of course I have wine.” He set the bowl of cut tomatoes down by her elbow. “I’ll be right back.”

He took his time selecting a bottle from the rack in his basement, more to give her a minute to collect herself than anything else. When he returned, he held out the bottle of Vidal Blanc to her.

“Great, thanks.” She sent him a tentative smile as she dropped shallots and butter into a pan on the stove. “You never told me whatyouwere doing in Boston the night we met,” she said.

---