Page 80 of Xander

Xander looked at me, one dark eyebrow raised skeptically. “You told me you couldn’t cook.”

A flush rose up my throat, remembering our discussion at the cake tasting. That was years ago. He remembered?

“I’m not completely hopeless. I can make simple things like baked chicken or a vegetarian dish,” I said. “You have food at home, don’t you?”

He looked away from the road again to give me another searching look. With his eyebrows drawn and his mouth compressed, he looked thoughtful. Older.

“You’re not a servant,” he said. “I didn’t bring you here to cook and clean.”

Then what did you bring me here for? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t. I was afraid of the answer.

“I want to,” I said and was relieved when he left it to that.

Xander had a very well-stocked fridge, one befitting a dietician more than an athlete in his early twenties. I saw lots of freshly squeezed juice, local meats, cheese, and crisper drawers filled with fruits and vegetables. I wondered if he purchased all of these himself or if he had a member of his staff do it. “Do you cook?” I asked as I got out the ingredients I wanted.

“When I have time.” He watched from the far wall, arms folded over his chest. My mouth went dry when I saw he had changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and a white cotton T-shirt. “What are you making?”

I blanked for a few minutes before remembering I had landed on those ingredients. It was one of Xander’s favorites. ”A quiche, I think.”

His mouth turned up. “I love quiches.” His eyes followed me as I moved around the kitchen as if relishing that I remembered.

Eyeing the contents of his fridge, I added hastily, “They’re easy to make. All you need are eggs, milk, cheese, pie crust, and whatever you want to add as filling.” Despite knowing the answer, I asked, “How do you feel about spinach?”

The wolfish grin on his face returned. “It’s my favorite vegetable.”

“Then that’s what we’ll have,” I decided out loud.

It had been years since I’d worked my way through a kitchen. Jenna had taken care of everything like the lifesaver she was. But as I chopped up chives and spinach, cracked the eggs, and measured out the ingredients—just like I’d done when I was responsible for taking care of myself—I was hit with a wave of nostalgia.

I had missed this.

Pie crust was the one thing Xander didn’t have in his fridge, but it was easy enough to bake from scratch with flour, butter, water, salt, and a dash of cornstarch.

Jasper joined us while the quiche was in the oven. “Hi, Jordan,” he said, wandering into the kitchen. He had showered and changed since returning home, whereas I had only managed to change into my customary black leggings and a button-down flannel shirt—one of today’s purchases that made me feel at home in Canada.

Jasper watched me unsurely for a bit. He still seemed confused about the dynamics between me and his brother, and I still didn’t know how Xander explained my reason for turning up in Canada to escape Henry. Xander was frustratingly tight-lipped at times.

There were so many other unanswered questions, too. The most important one was what Xander Maxwell wanted with me. As evidenced by today, he could have any woman on earth.

“Can I help with anything?” Jasper asked after a few awkward moments.

“How are you at chopping?”

“I can learn,” he offered.

I set him to work at the cutting board. Xander watched him butcher the vegetables for a few seconds before bending to whisper something and taking his place. I watched him dice the tomatoes before going to the oven to check on the quiche. It had been about forty-five minutes, and the crust was turning golden brown.

“This is much better than the pre-made sandwiches he shoves down my throat whenever I visit,” Jasper said enthusiastically.

Xander eyed him. “I thought you liked Jacquard’s.”

“Yeah, but ready-to-eat bachelor cuisine gets old after a while. Nothing beats home-cooked.” He fell silent, a tortured look crossing his face, which made me wonder whether he remembered his mother cooking for him before her accident. From what I knew, Jasper was young when it happened.

“How were your finals?” Xander asked gruffly, shoving aside the pile of neatly cubed tomatoes.

“I had two finals,” Jasper said. “The rest were term papers.”

“How did they go?”