Page 59 of Done with You

“I know, I could get used to this,” she said. “Little Lassie, let’s make more money so we can afford a private chef. Or ditch the badge, and let’s knock over a bank.”

Jordan snorted and rolled his eyes. “We’ll call that Plan B.” He lifted his chin to Oona. “How are you?”

“Pretty good. Spent the day buying obnoxious and tacky things for this one’s party tomorrow. So much stuff comes in the shape of a penis these days.”

Jordan laughed. “Yeah?”

“Dinner’s ready,” Aiden said from the kitchen, his tone terse.

“Just let me get changed and wash my hands,” Jordan said, heading to the bedroom.

Rayma and Oona pried themselves off the couch and brought their wine over to the tall four-top bistro style table that served as Rayma and Jordan’s kitchen table. Aiden had set it already and there was garlic bread in a basket, the Caesar salad tossed with croutons, bacon, and fresh grated parmesan, as well as a plate of the bacon wrapped scallops and the fried oyster mushrooms. He’d already placed steaming bowls at two of the place settings and they were expertly garnished with what looked like pine nuts, brown butter drizzle, and fresh scallions.

Oona never would have pegged Aiden as a cooking enthusiast like this. Then again, she really didn’t know the man, as hard as she tried to analyze him, she could only assume so much. And he also probably had a lot of time on his hands, so maybe he took up cooking to keep himself from going stir-crazy.

Of course, she was the last person he dished up, and he set the bowl in front of her with a harsh plunk that made the soup slosh slightly in the bowl and over the side onto her plate. She glared at his back when he returned to the kitchen to ditch his oven mitts. He was still sporting that apron, though.

And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, he pulled it off rather well.

Jordan joined them, then finally Aiden. Unfortunately, due to where Jordan and Rayma sat, Aiden was forced to sit next to Oona, and his intrusive knee brushed hers under the table when he pulled in his chair. Their eyes met, and both of them narrowed their gaze.

“Well, this is absolutely amazing,” Jordan said, having grabbed a beer from the fridge on his way to sit down. “Bro, I had no idea you were like Gordon Ramsay or something.”

Oona nearly choked on her wine.

What an accurate celebrity chef to choose. Gordon Ramsay was known for his temper and tirades, and Aiden was currently in anger management for his temper and tirades.

He must have picked up on her wave-length, and a sharp but inconspicuous pinch on her calf under the table made her squeak. It wasn’t a painful pinch, though. More of a cheeky warning.

She knew the difference between being playful and deliberately inflicting pain.

And Aiden wasn’t deliberately trying to inflict pain on her.

“You okay?” Rayma asked her, patting her on the back. “Go down the wrong pipe?”

“Something like that,” Oona said, still coughing a little. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and dished back a heel dig to the top of Aiden’s foot, but all that got her was a murmured grunt that nobody seemed to notice.

When they were Luna and Caden, she’d mentioned her ex and that he’d been physical. Aiden, for all his flaws, probably remembered that even though they were enemies, he was staying within her boundary of acceptable behavior.

Because even though he’d been rough with her, he’d never made her fear for her life. Never made her worry that he was going to punch her in the stomach, break her ribs, or give her a black eye.

Break her heart? Maybe. But never her collarbone.

“Anyway,” Jordan went on, none-the-wiser, “this looks great, Aiden. Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Rayma said, lifting her wine glass into the middle of the table. “To family. It just keeps growing and I couldn’t be happier.”

Aiden had a glass of sparkling water, which he lifted to join Rayma’s wine. Jordan lifted his beer bottle, and Oona lifted her wine. She and Aiden made a point of not clinking their glasses with each other, and she thought it went unnoticed and she was in the clear, but ol’ eagle eyes Rayma picked up on it.

“You didn’t clink,” she said, looking at them both like they’d each sprouted a second head. “You need to clink and you need to make eye contact; otherwise, it’s bad luck and bad sex for seven years.”

“I thought that was if you broke a mirror?” Aiden asked. Which echoed the confusion Oona also felt.

“That’s just bad luck for seven years. But not making eye contact when you clink your glass in cheers, is bad luck and bad sex for seven years. I mean, do any of us want to risk that?”

Oona slowly, reluctantly, and with anger bubbling up inside of her, lifted her wine glass and her gaze toward Aiden. She focused on the brown tributaries that ran through his green irises and waited for his glass to touch hers.

His focus on her was unwavering.

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