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“That’s all I get?” I squint. “Just a nod?”

“I haven’t had the full course yet.”

I stab my fork into the air. “You’re lucky you’re hot, do you know that?”

This earns me a chuckle, a deep, masculine sound that reverberates up my spine. I want to hear it again and again.

Astor devours the salad before I’ve taken my third bite. He wasn’t kidding that he was starving, and it exhilarates me to know that I am able to remedy that need for him.

When I clear the plates and bring out the main dish, Astor looks up at me, a baffled expression on his face.

“What the hell is this?”

“Lobster mac and cheese.”

“Macaroni and cheese? I thought you said you could cook. A seven-year-old could make mac and cheese.”

“I’d be careful talking to me like that when there are knives within reaching distance. Just try it.”

He sniffs, then picks up his fork.

“Make sure you get a piece of lobster in the first bite.”

“Don’t tell me how to eat.”

“Then stop being such a pussy.”

“That dirty mouth will get you in trouble, young lady.”

“Here’s to hoping. Try it.”

I hover over him as he chews, on pins and needles.

“Holy shit.”

“I know, right?” I beam. “It’s delicious. You owe me an apology.”

“I already apologized once within the last fifteen minutes.”

“Do you need to stretch before your second?”

Around another bite, he mutters (almost inaudibly), “Sorry.”

Smirking, I return to the opposite end of the table and dig in. It’s damn good. I did good.

Astor and I fall into an easy, comfortable conversation. Surprisingly so.

He has many questions about my education and accolades. I can tell he’s impressed, and I feel proud talking about it.

I ask about his business and learn that it was built on the coattails of his mother, using her contacts and reputation to get his foot in the door. He has high respect and gratitude for her. A mama’s boy, and I find this extremely endearing.

I also learn that Astor served in the military but left when he realized how many opportunities were missed by rules and regulations, restrictions written by politicians while sitting in their air-conditioned offices, most of whom have never served a day in their lives. Red tape, he calls it.

So, determined to fix a flawed system, Astor started his company when he was only twenty-seven years old, with the purpose of handling what the government is too inept to. He’s driven by patriotism, greed, and an intense desire to honor his mother.

Astor has two helpings of my mac and cheese before dinner is over. For dessert, I serve a simple but classic chocolate layer cake with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. Between us, we’ve split a bottle and a half of wine, and I am comfortably buzzed—bordering on drunk.

“Thank you for cooking,” he says, glancing up at me as I refill his wine.

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