by J. H. Croix
I realized I hadn't even turned the burner on yet. “I can handle that.” I returned the box of prepared mac and cheese to the cabinet and turned on the burner.
He pulled out a cheese grater, setting it on the counter beside a giant block of cheese. Another moment later, he handed me a bowl. “You can shred it in there.” He started to turn away but stopped and looked back at me. “Were you going to put a lid on the water?”
“It boils without it,” I said, thinking I was stating the obvious.
Russell rolled his eyes. “It boils a lot faster with a lid.” He got a lid out and plunked it down on top of the pot.
I was feeling even more snappish now. Annoyance rose inside me like a tide. It seemed to come in waves with him. “You know, I didn't ask you to make this.”
“I know, I know,” he said.
I recalled my mother trying to get me up to speed in the kitchen and often reminding me that I didn't pay attention to things I didn't like to do. The truth was, I didn't like to cook, and I always felt out of place in the kitchen.
“How much cheese should I grate?” I asked after I had opened it and rolled down the wrapping.
“About half that block.”
I eyed the giant block of sharp cheddar cheese. “Half?”
Russell's eyes slid to mine. When his lips curled into a slow grin, my belly executed a joyous flip. “Yes, half. When I make mac and cheese, it needs a lot of cheese. No sense in skimping on it. It's the main ingredient.”
I got to work grating the cheese, watching curiously as he got out another pan and started melting butter in it. Then he added flour and whisked it. I'd never watched anyone make homemade cheese sauce. Within minutes, he had added cream and then the cheese. He even added some spices. By that point, I had lost track of what he was doing. I sat down on the stool at the kitchen counter and decided to wait. He didn't seem to need my help.
After Russell assembled the macaroni and cheese in a baking pan, he sprinkled more cheese on top along with some breadcrumbs. He had assigned me the task of turning on the oven to heat it. Looking at the pan as he slid it in, I asked, “You don't just eat it? Everything in the pan is cooked.”
Russell closed the oven door and set the timer before turning to face me. When he hooked a hand in his pocket, that subtle motion elicited the equivalent of an engine revving in my body. My pulse, which ran fast no matter what when I was near him, kicked up its pace even more. Because he put his hand in his pocket, drawing my eyes to the subtle flex of his forearm. Good Lord. This was ridiculous.
“No, I don't just eat it,” he said slowly. “You need to bake it. It makes everything blend better. Plus, then we get the crispy on top. I'll have to make my crispy mac and cheese for you.”
“Crispy mac and cheese? What's the difference?”
“I don't put it in a baking dish like that. I spread it across a cookie sheet. Everything bakes thin and crispy. It’s tasty, especially if you're a fan of slightly burnt cheese.”
“Wow. I never thought of that.”
He chuckled, slipping his hand out of his pocket. Turning, he crossed to the refrigerator and opened it. “Want anything to drink? I have beer.”
“I don't love beer,” I said when he glanced over his shoulder.
“Do you like beer?” he pressed.
“Actually, no. I don't even think I like it.” My cheeks were getting hot, and I didn't even know why.
He pulled out a beer for himself. “You don't mind if I have one, do you?”
I shook my head. “Of course not.”
“I saw that you got some wine. You could have that.” He gestured to the bottle of wine on the counter.
I grabbed on to that suggestion like it was a lifeline and I was drowning. I was drowning—in heat and lust. “Good idea.” I slipped off the stool and trotted across the kitchen, fetching the bottle of wine.
Before I could even ask, he pointed at a cabinet beside the refrigerator. “Glasses are in there.”
I pulled out a glass and filled it with wine, thinking I needed to find a way to disappear from the kitchen. But that seemed rude. He had just made dinner for me. I had grated the cheese and preheated the oven, but my contribution felt small. That pan of mac and cheese looked delicious, and I was beyond hungry. I just didn't know how long I could handle spending time with him.
I took a big gulp of wine, hoping it would take the edge off my nerves, which felt stripped raw around him. I was hypersensitive to every tiny thing he did. I jumped when the phone rang. Russell glanced my way as he stood from where he'd taken a seat at the table and went to answer it.
“Hello?” He listened, nodding. “Yeah, she's right here.” Turning, he held out the phone.
“For me?” I asked.
“Says he's your brother.”
I took a breath and hoped the alarm ringing like a gong inside my body wasn’t obvious on my face.
Chapter Eight
Paisley
I set my wine glass on the counter and reached for the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, sis. How's it going?” my brother replied.
“Okay. How did you get this number?” I was more curious than I wanted to be about that. I didn’t even know it myself. I’d blocked my brother’s number from my cell after I moved here.
“Mom gave me this number.”
Now, that was a big fat lie. I knew it, and he knew it. The unease I'd become accustomed to living with concerning my brother slithered through me. “How are you?” I knew my tone was stilted, and I wanted to walk out of the kitchen. This whole thing was weird, and Russell obviously had no idea that I was barely on speaking terms with my brother for reasons that were confusing to me. Blessedly, Russell walked out of the kitchen, and I heard his footsteps moving down the stairs.
I let out a sigh. “What is it, Ryder? Why are you calling me?”
“I actually want to know how you're doing,” he insisted.
“No, you don't. Please don't track me down like this.”
“I already did.”
“I know, and why?”
“Because I care about you, even if you don't think so,” my brother insisted.
I gritted my teeth, clenching my free hand into a fist before opening it and shaking it to release the tension in my body. “Ryder, what do you need?”
“Nothing. I just called to give you a heads-up. If you hear from a guy named Tom Smith, let me know.”
“Are you serious? Now you're warning me about people?”
Ryder was silent for several beats before he said, “Yes, I am.”
“Tom Smith is probably a common name.”
“I know, but you don't know one, or at least not that I'm aware of. If you hear from one, let me know right away.”
“Ryder, what the hell is going on?”
“Nothing you need to know about.”
“Well then, why the hell are you calling me?”
“I just told you.”
Fuck. “What the hell is going on?” I repeated.
“Paisley, I love you. Maybe you're not thrilled with my choices, but I'm trying to make sure you're okay.”
“Well, I thought I was okay. I moved a few thousand miles away.”
“You didn't have to move away,” my brother pointed out.
“I know I didn't, but I’m tired of trying to keep your secrets from Mom and Dad. That's on you now.”
For the first time, I heard a twinge of guilt in my brother's reply. “I know. I'll figure it out. This isn't going to go on forever. I promise.”
I heard Russell's footsteps coming back up the stairs. “I'm glad you're doing okay. Thanks for calling.” This was not a conversation I wanted to have at all, and most definitely not in front of Russell.
“You take care. I love you.”
“Love you too.” I set the phone back in the cradle on the wall beside the kitchen counter.
Turning away, I crossed to the island where I’d left my wine and reached for the glass. I took another gulp jus
t as Russell returned to the kitchen. He was looking at something on his phone and had his beer in his other hand. He glanced up. “You didn't have to end that call on my account. You could have gone upstairs if you needed some privacy.”
“I know. It was just my brother saying hello.” And warning me about some random guy.
Russell nodded. “I didn't know you had a brother.”
I shrugged. “How would you have known? We haven't talked that much.”
His eyes narrowed as he took a long drag from his beer. My eyes trailed down to his throat, lingering on the motion as he swallowed. A shaft of heat slid through me. I took another swallow of wine, hoping my nerves would settle. That was probably a long shot, but a girl could hope. Between my reaction to Russell and that call from my brother, I was wired tight.
Oblivious to my state, he lowered his beer. “No, I don't suppose we have talked much.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked as I crossed over to sit at the table. I might as well make polite conversation.
“No, it's just me. I'm an only child.”
“Are you spoiled rotten?” I teased.
He shrugged. “Don’t think so.”
“You're from Willow Brook, right?”
“Yep. Born and raised here.”
“What do your parents do?”
A shadow crossed over his eyes. For a flash, I thought his gaze held intense sadness, but it disappeared quickly. “My dad was a firefighter, but he died a year ago. My mom's a teacher.” His voice was flat as he recited those facts.
My palm flew to my chest. “I'm so sorry. I didn't know.”
“It's okay. You might’ve heard about it around the station because he used to be a firefighter on the town crew there.”
“I'm so sorry, Russell. I really am.”
“Me too,” he said in a gruff whisper. He took another drag from his beer. “What about your parents?” he asked as he lowered the bottle and walked over to sit down across from me.
“They live in Washington. My dad's a lawyer, the local district attorney. It's a small town, but he's a big fish in a small pond. My mom’s a florist. She loves flowers and gardening, so it suits her.”
Russell nodded politely. “That's nice. What does your brother do?”
Ah, now that was a loaded question. I couldn't tell him the truth, so I told him the lie my brother told everybody. It wasn’t a complete lie, but it definitely wasn’t how he supported himself. “He's an accountant.”
“That sounds boring,” Russell offered with a grin.
I shrugged. “I suppose so.”
“How did you end up a firefighter?”
I was so relieved he didn't linger on my brother that I didn't even mind talking about myself. “I signed up for a volunteer crew in high school and loved it. I decided to do my training to be a hotshot firefighter after college.”
“What did you do in college?”
“I majored in land management. I love the outdoors, and I figure I won't be able to be a firefighter forever because it's hard work. I'll be able to do some kind of wildlife management job after that. At least that's what I hope.”
Russell nodded. “Smart move.”
“Did you go to college?”
“Yup, in Washington. Did the whole city thing in Seattle.”
“Did you like it? I almost can't imagine you being in a city.”
He cracked a grin, and butterflies spun in my belly as tingles radiated through me. It constantly felt like sparks were bouncing around inside when I was near him. When he was actually being nice to me, I worried those sparks would combust into a bonfire.
I thought perhaps I should start an argument, but I was too unsettled between my brother's call and Russell telling me his father died.
“I liked Seattle, but I wanted to come home. Moving away shows you what you want sometimes.”
“I suppose so. I spent some time in Seattle too.” When he arched a brow, I added, “That's where I went to college. University of Washington.”
“You're kidding. When did you graduate?”
“Six years ago.”
“I'll be damned. I must have been a senior there when you were a freshman.”
“It's a big school. Definitely not the place where you’d meet everybody.”
The sound of his low chuckle sent those butterflies into a spin. At that moment, the kitchen timer went off, and he stood to walk over and glance in the oven. “It looks ready. You hungry?”
“Sure.” I stood from the table. “Can I do anything?”
“You can get two bowls out.” I crossed over to the cabinets and got out the bowls.
He spooned in the mac and cheese, and my mouth watered. He even brought over a bottle of some kind of spice when he carried the bowls over to the table. “You might enjoy a dash of chipotle.” He cast a quick grin. “It's tasty.”
I sprinkled some on mine, realizing at the last minute that I'd forgotten to get spoons. I jumped up and grabbed them out of the drawer before returning to the table.
“You have to take the first bite,” he said from where he sat across from me.
Staring into his eyes, I felt my chest tighten, and my breaths were short.
“Um, okay.” I lifted a spoonful, watching the steam rise and giving it a second to cool. As soon as my mouth closed over it, I let out a moan. The subtle smoky flavor of the chipotle mingling with the rich cheese and the crunch from the breadcrumbs and browned cheese on top was, simply put, heavenly. I moaned shamelessly again after I finished chewing, then opened my eyes. “Oh, my God. That is amazing.”
Russell waggled his eyebrows and then took his own bite. “I told you it was better than the kind from the box,” he said a moment later.
I held a hand up. “You will get no argument from me on that. You can cook for me every night, in fact.”
“Now, now. Don't be saying I'm good at things. That might mess up our record.”
“What record?”
His brows hitched up as he gave me a long look. “Of you telling me I screw things up all the time at work.”
“I don't do that,” I snapped, irritation rising inside.
“Yeah, you do. The other day, you got after me about how I started the chainsaw. Then you didn't like the perimeter I set when we were out last week.” He shrugged, seeming unbothered as he took another bite of his food. I started to feel a little sheepish. “You even thought I walked too close to you the other day.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You were too close. I know you were doing that to annoy me.”
“No, I wasn't. I was just walking. My legs are a little longer than yours, in case you didn't notice.”
“Obvious much?”
Russell threw his head back with a laugh at that.
I decided to focus on my food. I had a sneaky feeling he was right about me being so picky around him at work. After a few more bites, I offered, “This is amazing. Thank you.”
“Anytime. I might not cook dinner for you every night, but if we're around at the same time, I'm not gonna let you make something from a box.”
“I won't argue.”
We actually finished eating and managed to have a normal conversation. Afterward, I cleaned up. I couldn't seem to get my nerves to settle. I didn't know what to think about my brother tracking down this phone number and warning me about that guy. I kept trying to forget about it, but I couldn't. There was that, and the other track in my mind was busy with my body's traitorous response to Russell.
He was actually being nice, and I felt sad about his father passing away.
What the hell was I going to do about this roommate situation? It was not ideal.
After I closed the dishwasher, I turned and rested my hips against the counter. As soon as I did, I realized Russell was standing right there, drying his hands on a towel.
My eyes fell to his forearms, watching as they flexed with the motions. For God's sake, the man was drying his hands. It was not supposed to be sexy. The se
cond my eyes whipped up, heat flashed to my cheeks, and our gazes locked.
Russell was quiet. His hands lowered, and he carefully hung the towel over the handle on the stove directly across from me. When he turned back, he seemed to be considering something.
Meanwhile, I’d gone freaking crazy. Because I wasn't even thinking, and I’d taken a step closer to him. There couldn't have been more than six inches between us now. I could hear the rush of blood in my ears with every beat of my heart. My entire body was tingling with electricity.
Russell's eyes searched mine, and I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what to say. “What are you doing, Paisley?” he asked.
“I don't know.” My voice came out a little breathless.
“You know what I want?”
I felt the motion of my head as I shook it. “No,” I rasped.
He took a step closer, and suddenly, the air around us felt electrified. He was right there. I could actually feel the heat radiating from his body. “I want to kiss you, and that's probably not a good idea.”
My brain thought it was a bad idea, but my hormones were making such a racket, I couldn't listen to anything else. “Why not?” I whispered.
“Because we kind of can't stand each other. Although, maybe we can.”
My mind blanked, and my palm landed on his chest. I could feel the thump of his heart beating against my hand. His eyes darkened, and everything felt blurry as if time was slow and fast at once. His head lowered, his eyes on mine the entire time. His gaze felt like a dare, and I never could back down from a dare.
I was leaning up to meet his lips just when they landed on mine. The subtle brush of his mouth was electrifying. The touch of his lips was soft and warm, and he rasped, “All you have to do is tell me to stop.”
Well, there was no chance in hell of that. Not if my hormones had any say. I arched against him, letting out something like a whimper. I was not that girl. Whimpering was not a thing I did. But maybe it was with him.
The next thing I knew, Russell's palm was sliding down my back, his touch confident and hot. Just when I felt the tease of his fingers on the upper curve of my bottom, his hand swept up again. His fingers laced in my hair as he cupped the back of my neck and angled my head to the side. His mouth fit over mine with a firm, commanding sweep of his tongue.
