Page 24 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
“No, but yes.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “Six weeks… we don’t know each other. At all. What if you’re?—”
Lochlan kept his face neutral, letting her continue, curious what she thought.
“What if I hate the way you chew? Or you’re one of those people who puts the toilet paper roll on backwards?”
He felt the corner of his mouth quirk upward. “I’m the potential threat here?”
“Yes!” she shot back, crossing her arms, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Don’t smile at me like that.”
He tilted his head slightly, bemused.
Her cheeks flushed pale pink.
“Ugh, this whole thing is frustrating,” she muttered, sinking lower in her seat.
Lochlan wanted to say he would chew however she wanted, hang the toilet paper however she liked—hell, he’d rearrange his entire house if it meant she’d give this a chance.
Not yet, you fool.
Nia’s stomach growled, interrupting the moment. The unexpected sound sent an unfamiliar feeling through him—something visceral, protective. The idea of her going hungry made him bristle.
“Maybe eating will help?” he suggested.
She sighed, picked up her fork, and poked at the food once more. “It smells really good,” she murmured.
His heart thumped at the compliment.
Goddess help him, he was in trouble.
The moment she took her first bite, the sound of her moan sent goosebumps skittering across his skin. He looked away, willing himself to shake off the reaction, but it clung stubbornly, settling deep.
“Ohmygoddess.” The words tumbled out, garbled around her mouthful of food. “This is the best pasta I’ve ever had.”
She shoveled in a few more bites before biting into the chicken. “How is this crispy? What magic is this?”
“Becket’s mother is an amazing cook. I spent college holidays with them. And then when I got my own place… I just really enjoy cooking.”
“I bet everyone loves your food.”
Lochlan hesitated. “I’ve only cooked for Becket. And Jade, when she had a stomach bug and could only eat boiled chicken and rice.”
“You’re kidding.” Nia looked at him, her fork stilled midair, expression faltering. The brightness in her eyes dimmed, replaced by a flicker of something dangerously close to pity.
His grip tightened around his own fork. He hadn’t meant to make it sound pathetic, but now that the words were out, he realized how they sounded.
He shrugged, aiming for casual indifference. “I don’t usually cook for other people.”
Silence stretched between them, heavier than before. Nia studied him, her gaze searching, as if trying to fit the pieces of him together.
“You mean to tell me,” she said slowly, setting her fork down, “that you’re this fantastic at cooking, and no one’s taking advantage of it?”
He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Guess not.”
“Not even a girlfriend?” She frowned.
The question caught like a hook in his ribs. He didn’t look at her as he reached for his water. “No.”
A beat passed. Then?—
