Page 82 of Before It Was Love

“I’ll buy a new pan.”

I throw my hands in the air. “You can buy a new pan but I’m not starting over. It was hard enough the first time.”

He pokes at the chicken breasts. “Was raw chicken on the menu?”

“It’s not raw. I seared those in the pan the way the recipe told me to.”

He points to a pink spot. “Maybe they need a few more minutes.”

“But they were getting black on top.”

He barks out a laugh. “Sophia Milton, you are gorgeous, sexy as hell, funny, friendly, and loyal. But you can’t cook.”

I scowl at the chicken breasts. “Maybe I should sign up for a cooking class.”

“If you want to, but don’t sign up on my account.”

“Aren’t women supposed to cook for their men?”

“Is this what this was?” He motions to the counter. “You cooking for your man?”

“I was trying to apologize.”

The humor in his face evaporates. “Apologize about what?”

“I was a bitch last night. You prepared this picnic for me as a surprise despite winning at the arcade. Although I maintain you cheated at air hockey.”

“Naturally,” he mutters.

“I shouldn’t have stomped off like a child.”

I spent last night and all day thinking about this. As much as I want a man to fight for me, I want Flynn more. Don’t get me wrong, though. I won’t put up with our relationship being a secret forever. At some point, Flynn needs to step up. I refuse to be the laughingstock of Smuggler’s Hideaway again.

“We agreed to keep our relationship a secret and here I am a week later pushing you to tell my brother. I’m not known for my patience.”

His eyes widen in mock surprise. “No. Really?”

I slap his shoulder. “Stop it. I’m trying to apologize here.”

“Apology accepted.” He kisses my forehead and comes up sputtering. “But you need to wash your face, and we need to clean this kitchen.”

I push up on my toes to kiss him. “Be right back.”

I hurry to the downstairs bathroom. I don’t want to leave Flynn to clean up my mess. I grab a towel and wet it, but when I look into the mirror I scream at my image. There’s not a little flour on my face or in my hair. I’m a freaking ghost.

The door flies open and Flynn storms in. “What’s wrong? I heard you scream.”

“I’m a mess. I tried to do something special for you and it turned into a disaster,” I blubber.

He smiles as he wipes a chunk of flour from my cheek. “Soph, you could be wearing a muumuu with your hair in curlers and your face covered with one of those mask thingies and I’d still think you were gorgeous.”

My knees wobble and I melt into him. These are the words I’ve longed to hear for over a decade. This is why I’m falling for him.

“To me, you’re perfect.”

“Hold on. Are you quoting a movie?”

He shrugs. “Maybe.”

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