Chase clapped his hands together. “What should we cook?”
We. No, they were definitely not a we. Couldn’t be. They had a business arrangement. Yet everything was starting to feel normal. Too natural. As if they always planned meals together. Always vacationed together. She had to break their connection. Remind herself they were opposites. And opposites could not attract. “I brought boxed mac and cheese and hot dogs just for times like this.”
“You’re serious?” He frowned at her.
“It’s a family favorite.” Nichole lifted her chin. “It’s one of Wesley’s favorites.”
He stepped closer to her. “Let’s make a deal.”
Deal? Nichole moved toward him and tipped her head to lock her gaze on his. The last deal she’d made with Chase had her married to him. How much worse could it get? “What do you have in mind?”
“You make your food.” He grimaced and recovered. His gaze warmed and searched her face. “I’ll make my version and we see which one everyone prefers.”
“What are you making exactly?” Nichole eyed him. He reached forward, brushed her hair off her shoulder. His touch light and swift. But the effect left her restless and wishful. She cleared her throat. “It has to be healthy, no ice cream or brownies to sway the vote.” No more tugs on her heart to sway her resolve.
“It’ll be something simple. Kid-friendly.” He opened the refrigerator and peered inside. Then turned toward her. His gaze lit up. “Baked ziti with fresh tomatoes, spinach and broccoli.”
“You might want to reconsider so many vegetables.” And she’d reconsider her urge to move closer to him. “It also doesn’t sound so simple.”
“Don’t underestimate a kid’s palate. I’ll add sausage too.” He held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Chase could cook. Very well. Nichole hardly knew her way around the kitchen. She kept her hands in her pockets. “What happens when you lose?”
“The loser has to cook breakfast for everyone for the rest of the weekend.” He grinned at her.
“Done.” No way would she lose this. She knew both the boys too well. Spinach would stop the conversation before it started. Nichole set her hand inside Chase’s.
A jolt of awareness bounced between their palms and vaulted toward her chest. And she wondered if she’d made a different sort of bargain. One that had nothing to do with cooking and everything to do with distance. And not keeping hers.
Chase filled a pan with water, turned on the front burner, then adjusted the oven to preheat. Vegetables and several cheeses shared space on the large island with mixing bowls and cutting boards. “Don’t you want to prep anything?”
“I have time.” Nichole poured herself another cup of coffee and slid onto the barstool to give herself a good view of Chase’s prep station. In minutes he had sausage cooking and a red sauce simmering. The scent of spices and good food filled the air. But she still had the advantage—comfort food was a family standby. “I need to boil water and open a box.”
Chase laughed and chopped broccoli like a trained chef, at ease and confident. He worked without a recipe. Relied on taste and patience.
Nichole preferred exact measurements and directions more specific than Mix a little. Add a dash. Their cooking styles hardly meshed. She motioned toward the dishes gathering in the sink. “If I cook the hot dogs in the pasta water, I only need one pan.”
“This is part of the joy in cooking.” Chase added the cooked sausage, noodles and chopped vegetables to his sauce. Then inhaled the steam from the pot. “Creating is fun.”
Watching Chase cook was fun. More than fun. He made her want to take more risks like asking if she could help. Like testing the boundaries of that we. Opposites could balance each other.
She remembered his favorite things. He’d loaned her his sweatshirt and kept the fire going all night. He’d also respected her wishes about Wesley. That hardly made him right for her. Even if her heart tumbled more than once, tugging her ever closer to the pillow wall and Chase last night. And tempting her even now. “You don’t really think eleven-year-old boys are going to willingly eat spinach and broccoli, do you?”
“I do. It’s all in the preparation.” He waved his hand over the casserole dish he’d started to assemble and smiled at her. “Want to taste a sample?”
She wanted... Her mouth dried. “I’ll wait.”
“Probably for the best.” He nodded. Grated more cheese, sprinkled it over the casserole, then slid the dish into the oven. “One taste and you’d probably be tempted to cheat later.”
Nichole sputtered on the coffee she sipped. “I’ll have you know that’s the bestselling mac and cheese in the nation for a reason.”
He drew a spoon around the empty pot, scraping up the last of the sauce and held it up. “And this is the best-tasting baked ziti sauce for a reason too.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s made from the heart.” He stuck the spoon in his mouth and grinned. “Just like Nonna’s.”
“Now you’re cheating.” Nichole jumped off the stool and rounded the island, closing the distance between them.
“How am I cheating?” He tossed the spoon on the island counter and locked his gaze on her.
She had his full attention now. All she’d wanted the entire day. She charged forward, straight through every caution sign. “You’re using Nonna’s recipe.”
He held up his hands. “Those are all I know.”
And all she knew was that she’d displaced her common sense. All she knew was the heat from Chase’s gaze encouraged her to cross all kinds of boundaries, pillow walls and defenses. Nichole stepped into his space, placed her hands on his chest and forgot to be practical. She leaned
