Page 30 of Saving Sophia

I zipped my locket back and forth on its chain. I wondered why they had needed a foster home but didn’t want to ask.

He grabbed a spatula from a drawer with one hand and waved it toward my neck. “Are you and your dad close?”

Nope. Not going there. No way.

“Mm-hmm,” I muttered vaguely, casting my eyes around the kitchen and searching for anything else to ask. “Do all your brothers live here? Except for Detective Valero?”

“Vincent does.” He set a pan to heat on the stove. “Griff’s been out in L.A. the past few years.”

He put butter in the hot pan, and it sizzled, releasing a smoky-sweet aroma.

“So … what do … Vincent and … Griff do?” I stumbled over the brothers’ names and tried not to worry about Ethan’s full lips smiling at me while he worked.

“Well, Griff’s a security expert. He works with a lot of Hollywood types. You’ll meet him soon. He’s coming here to upgrade the security system for the resort.” He dropped a sandwich into the pan. A hint of a frown flickered across his face. “Vincent owns a club in Seattle.”

“Oh,” I said again.

Why couldn’t I answer with more than one word? “Cool,” I added.

Smooth.

I sat quietly while he flipped the sandwich until it was golden brown. He deposited it on a plate and started another.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice small. “For making dinner … and for before.”

“I want you to feel safe here.” He paused, turning his full attention onto me. “I want you to feel safe with me.”

“I want that too,” I said. To my surprise, it came out a little low and breathy and maybe … a little sexy? I was pretty sure his eyes flicked down to where I was biting my lip for a fleeting moment.

“That’s good.” He smiled and then turned his attention back to the pan.

“I mean, of course I want to feel safe, not that I don’t … feel safe … why wouldn’t I?” I babbled, any sexiness evaporating.

Ethan’s mouth curved into a half smile. He flipped the sandwich then opened the cans of soup and poured them into a pot on a different burner. “Want to know a secret?”

I nodded vigorously, relieved at his ability to ignore my awkwardness. His smile was infectious. I loved the way it made his eyes crinkle, and was that a dimple in his left cheek?

He pointed to the refrigerator. “Pull out the heavy cream and bring it to me.”

I hopped up, eager to have something to do besides flounder with small talk or embarrass myself trying to flirt. When I had the cream, he motioned for me to pour some into the bright red soup.

“This is the trick to making canned soup taste homemade,” he stage-whispered, stirring with a big wooden spoon while I poured. The soup turned a luscious shade of orange-pink.

“Is that enough?” I whispered back, grinning in spite of myself.

“Perfect.” He nudged me gently away. “Now, go hide the evidence.” He pointed the spoon accusingly at the two cans. I giggled and scurried away to throw the cans in the trash.

When I turned back to him, he was holding up the big wooden spoon, full of soup, over the pot, urging me to taste. I stepped close to him, breathing in the warm soup and his scent just below. I took a tiny sip.

“Take a big girl slurp,” he urged, gently pushing the spoon closer to my lips.

I giggled again and took a vocal sip. “Delicious,” I declared. “Homemade for sure.”

“Good girl.”

Those words, along with his smile, his scent, and his nearness, made my heart flutter.

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