Page 26 of Bodyguard By Night

“You cook?”

“I cook.”

“Hey, me too.”

I knew she did. Though she cut corners I never would think of doing, but she was entertaining enough. The few videos I’d watched anyway.

Rachel was very proud of her sister and wouldn’t stop texting the videos to everyone she knew. And okay, maybe Willow was the only person I followed on the stupid social media app. I could only get the link so many times before I had to actually watch one.

Willow tossed her coat and purse on my leather chair. I picked them up and hung both by the door. The one that I’d be pushing her out of momentarily.

I found her peering into the sink. “What kind of potatoes are you making?” She also opened the processor with the butter. “Oh, is that garlic butter?” She pushed her sleeves up, moved the potatoes, then washed her hands.

“Help yourself.”

She grinned at me. “Thanks.” She dabbed her pinky into the butter and licked it off. “Wow. That’s good. Recipe?”

“No.”

“Huh.” She glanced around my kitchen. Herbs growing under a special lamp crawled up the wall of my fridge. She drew a finger down a spiky basil leaf. Her hazel eyes shifted toward the hanging rack of pans, the bins of vegetables, and the massive cabinets before she met my gaze gain. “You really can cook. Based on the smell, that’s not the tasteless man-leather kind of steak.”

I crossed my arms.

She shrugged. “Most guys I know don’t know the difference between a Pop Tart and a croissant.”

“Stop hanging out with children.”

“That’s true. But then again, you guys don’t grow out of that, do you?”

“Don’t lump me in with anyone you know.”

“So grumpy.” She turned to the oven and turned on the light instead of opening the door. At least I wouldn’t have to bury her body for ruining my steak.

I sighed and nudged her away. “If I feed you, will you tell me why you’re here?”

“I can help.”

“It’s almost done. I just have to do the potato.” Well, now potatoes since I had a guest. I grabbed another from my root vegetable storage in the corner of my stone kitchen. It was a reclaimed chicken coop that I’d modified. I liked the old look of the piece and it was more interesting than a boring pantry.

I returned to the sink and scrubbed the potato, setting it onto the cutting board with the first one.

She moved down a step—the girl did not believe in personal space—and leaned back on the counter, bracing her elbows behind her and pushing out her tits. The stupid filmy dress had been enough for me to deal with at the bar, but in my space?Fuck.

“Should have done the potato first.”

I pulled out a fresh knife. “I know you enjoy the whole shortcut thing, but the steak requires a resting period that will cover the potatoes.” I sliced each one a little more than three quarters through in thin, even sections and brushed them with butter and added some Parmesan cheese before wrapping them up in foil. I had the convection oven set for a quick cook.

I looked up and she’d tipped her head, watching me closely.

“Now we have some time to kill. Why are you here?”

She sighed. “It’s not like I want to be.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Why are you so miserable anyway?”

“Why are you so annoying?”