Free Stay With Me by Sharla Lovelace

“And this house just called to me.”

    “I’m sorry about your dad,” I said.

    Duncan shook his head. “No need to be. He was a—” He stopped short and glanced up, an apologetic grin on his face. “He wasn’t a great guy.”

    I smiled and raised an eyebrow. “He sure made certain you were taken care of.”

    Duncan focused back on stirring whatever was in the pot, and I had the feeling that topic was over. So the perfect man had a crack in the veneer after all.

    “Can I help you with anything?” I asked, really hoping he’d say no but feeling silly just sitting there like a customer in a private restaurant. “Boil water? Stir something?”

    He grinned. “Sure, come here.”

    Oh, crap. I stepped around where Ella was sitting like the Queen of Sheba and joined him, totally rewarded with the aroma of subtle aftershave and the faint scent of leather. And probably the food, too, but in that second those blue eyes locked down on me and I remembered why I always forgot my own name around him.

    “Stir this sauce for me,” he said, his hand on my shoulder. “Just keep it from sticking is all.”

    “Oh, the pressure,” I said, joking, although not really. If he knew just how untalented I was at such things, he would never trust me with it. “Smells amazing, though.”

    “It’s for the roasted potatoes,” he said. “They’re in the oven, there’s a chilled zucchini salad in the fridge, and the meat is marinating to do last. I’ll sear them and put them in when I pull the potatoes out.”

    I glanced sideways at him. “Did you go to chef school as well as vet school?”

    He laughed. “I took some night classes a few years ago. I’ve always loved to cook. It calms me. It has an order, you know? Like an art form just waiting for the different flavors to play off each other.” He gave me a look. “I don’t get to do it for other people much, though. This is nice.”

    I felt the old wigglies inside that I always got with him. The ones that always made me feel all girly and stupid and wonder if that’s what other women were talking about. Ian was the only guy who’d ever made me feel things, but that was more primal. With Duncan, it was like stepping into the wrong movie theater, where you think it’s going to be the badass adventure movie but it’s the romantic comedy. And you stay and end up warm and confused and liking it.

    “See, no asparagus,” he whispered against my ear.

    And holy shit-fuck, that changed up the movie on a dime. My blood took off like it was ignited with jet fuel. I was so proud of myself for not dropping the spoon, not to mention continuing to stir without missing a turn.

    “Ha ha,” I said weakly as he moved past me, trailing a hand on my back as he did.

    The hand on my back.

    The backs of my eyes burned a little and I blinked rapidly to turn that crap back around and get the hell away. No, no, no.

    “I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have any trouble finding people to cook for,” I said. “If you asked, I’d bet you would have quite the line down your driveway.”

    Duncan chuckled as he pulled the pan of potatoes from the oven and covered them with foil. “Well, I guess I’m choosy,” he said, turning those eyes of his my way. “Took me forever just to ask you.”

    I stopped stirring and tilted my head at him. “You only asked me because I flubbed up this morning—after asking you.”

    He smiled to himself and walked closer, turning me gently back to the stovetop and taking both the spoon and my hand and resuming the motion.

    “Keep stirring,” he said softly, sending goose bumps over my entire body.

    Oh, dear lord, he smelled good, and with his hand over mine like that, I was barely even remembering that other person.

    “And for the record,” he said, still holding the spoon with me, stirring in slow, methodical, maddening figure eights, “I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while. You just got there first.”

    I looked up and over my