Page 68 of Saltwater Cowboy

Poking my head around the corner, I caught Rose’s gaze. “You sure you don’t need help? I can have you on a couch in ten seconds, and you won’t have to lift a finger.”

She lifted her chin, still managing attitude despite the obvious discomfort. “You don’t strike me as the type to eat dinner in your living room.”

“And you don’t strike me as someone in a position to be mouthy right now.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she carefully placed her right foot down on the step—only to wince.

I sighed. “Rose, just swallow your damn pride. You can stop pretending to be a callous human being for three seconds.”

Something flickered in her eyes, her defenses faltering just slightly.

“Fine,” she muttered. Then, after a deep, pained breath, she added, “But we’re still not friends.”

I smirked. “Who said anything about being friends? I’m just being a gentleman.”

She exhaled sharply, like simply agreeing to this was more painful than her foot.

I set the tongs down on the counter and went up the stairs to her.

I slid one arm behind her back and the other under her knees, scooping her up before she could protest.

Her body was tense under my touch. She smelled like lavender and bad decisions. I carried her over to the couch and set her down gently, adjusting a pillow behind her.

“There. Now you can stop limping around like a wounded stray.”

She crossed her arms, eyeing me with suspicion. “You enjoy bossing people around, don’t you?”

I smirked. “Only when they’re this damn stubborn.”

She opened her mouth, probably to throw another jab, but I raised a hand.

She grumbled something under her breath, but when I walked away, I still heard the telltale sound of her shifting, getting comfortable.

Back in the kitchen, I finished up dinner, plating everything and bringing her a plate before settling into the chair across from her.

She eyed the food. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, well. If you were making dinner, it’d be tomorrow night before we ate.”

She exhaled a laugh—short, but real.

I dug into my food, watching as she took her first cautious bite. Her lips parted slightly in surprise.

“This is… good.”

I smirked. “You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

“Well, don’t get used to it. Tomorrow, you’re cooking.”

She snorted. “Not happening.”

I leaned back, stretching out my legs.

She shook her head, focusing on her food. But there was something softer in her expression now. Like, maybe, she was starting to realize I wasn’t the enemy.

We weren’t friends.