Page 107 of Sweet Surrender

“’Kay. Thanks for the update. Good to hear it.” I say the words, absorb the good news, but am distracted.

“Love you, brother,” Nathaniel says.

I pause. Hear the words, feel their sincerity, but don’t necessarily feel comfortable saying them back. “Talk to you soon.”

I hear the door open, followed by the shuffle of her bag hitting the floor.

“In here,” I say as if she doesn’t know where the kitchen is.

She enters within seconds, her tired hazel eyes darting between me and the takeout containers spread across the table. Then, slowly, they drag over my bare chest.

That slight hitch of her shoulders is all I need to see to know that shirtless was a good choice. For me. For my chances at something later. And to give her a little something to focus on other than her long day.

Mission accomplished.

“Hi.”

“Long day?” I ask.

“The longest.” She steps toward the island and smiles. “You cooked. How sweet.”

“I’m sensing your sarcasm,” I tease and gesture toward the food, “but I assure you this is way better than any attempt at cooking I could have made.” I shrug. “Besides, Sammy said it was a rough day and so I wanted to make sure I had your favorite.”

She steps toward the table, eyeing the food. “What did you get?”

“Thai. Extra spicy, the way you like it.” I grab a container, lifting it with a smirk. “And dumplings, because those were starred twice.”

Her eyes narrow. “Starred twice?”

“Yeah. On the menu you have sitting on your desk at the bakery. You told me in Vegas you love Thai. I noticed the menu last time I was in the bakery and snapped a photo of it—just in case. This is just in case. So I bought one of everything you had circled on it and two of the dumplings since those were starred twice.”

She stares at me dumbfounded.

“What is it, Cookie?”

“You noticed that?”

“I notice a lot of things. I just thought after a hard day’s work, you might want food that reminds you of home. Of . . . before all this. Of before me.”

Something flickers across her face, something I can’t quite name, but it makes me grip the container a little tighter.

She blinks, lips parting slightly.

I expect her usual sarcastic retort, but it doesn’t come. Instead, she just looks at me, like she’s trying to figure something out. Like maybe she wasn’t expecting me to notice.

“You—” She clears her throat, shaking her head. “Since when do you take care of people?”

I shrug, keeping it casual, even though the way she’s looking at me makes my chest feel tight. “Since you, apparently.”

Her lips press together, and I can tell she’s trying not to react. But she does. It’s subtle, but it’s there—in the way she shifts her weight, in the way she suddenly won’t meet my eyes. And I can see the minute she brushes it all off. The second she tries to play whatever this is going on between us as nothing more, nothing less than her fake husband trying to be nice.

Much the same way I’ve been.

This is dinner. It’s supposed to be light. To be easy. To not leave these unanswered questions lingering above us so that it’s anything but that.

“Let’s eat,” I say to try and will that into existence.

“Please. I’m starving.” Her smile widens.