Page 27 of Adrift

“Oh, right! That way.”

I shake my head as Kieran bounces alongside me to the road, then turns to head toward the wharf. “Do you charm strangers into staying with you like this all the time?”

“I’ll tell you a secret…” Kieran says mischievously.

He’s stretching up to walk on tiptoe and whisper in my ear. His breath is warm on my neck, his body hot against my arm… and it’s making it a lot harder to think straight, all of a sudden.

“I charm strangers into doing an awful lot of things.” Then Kieran sinks back down, beaming up at me as he swishes along with every step. “You’ll see.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Despite myself, my grumpy scowl cracks into a smile—and then, at last, a rich laugh. “I don’t doubt that at all, Kieran Walsh.”

Chapter

Eleven

KIERAN

My heart leapsinto my throat as the shower water turns off. I crouch to sweep bits of dry, crushed pasta into the dustpan, muttering curses under my breath as I hastily dump them in the trash.

OfcourseGage showers with military efficiency.

He was so relieved at the prospect of rinsing off with fresh, warm water that he didn’t even look toward the kitchen. I thought I’d have time to cover my tracks, but he’s only been in there for five minutes. But at least the floors and the counters are better, right?

Sure, Kieran. He might not notice the teetering mountain of dishes threatening to fall right out of the sink.

Every pot and pan I own is stacked up in there like evidence of my disastrous cooking technique.

“Hey, it’s cooked food,” I mutter, washing up my hands to grab my nicest bowls and serve dinner. “Overcooked, even. Beats the alternative.”

By the time I divide the plastic container into two bowls and stick a fork into each, Gage is coming around the corner—this time wearing plaid PJ pants and a faded grey T-shirt. He looks cute as hell, even if he’s significantly too clothed.

“So, what’s for dinner, chef?”

“Nothing fancy,” I say with a laugh, turning to my rickety little dining room table to set down the bowls. “Or is it?” I grin as I suddenly get an idea.

I yank the fridge open and grab the parmesan shaker, leaning over to the table to sprinkle it violently across each bowl.

“Whoa—” Gage breaks off as cheese goes everywhere. He coughs into his fist, but I flourish with my other hand and shove the shaker back into the fridge. Some of it made it onto dinner, and that’s what counts.

“Fancy,” I tell him with a smug grin.

Before I can plop into one of the wobbly wooden chairs, though, Gage grabs it and scoots it back for me. He keeps holding onto it, nodding down at the seat when I hesitate.

My cheeks burn as I sit down and he helps scoot me into the table before taking his own seat. “I should be the one acting chivalrous, since I’m hosting.”

“Pfff,” Gage snorts. “You’re providing dinner. I may as well provide the chivalry.”

Oh, hell. It’s literally impossible not to be charmed by this man.

“Thanks,” I tell him, and then I look down at dinner. “Tonight’s special is slightly chewy pasta with sausage, parmesan, and overcooked spinach.”

Crinkles appear around Gage’s eyes, like he’s almost verging on a smile. He looks down at the bowl and then back at me with real gratitude on his face. “Thankyou, Kieran.”

“No problem.” But Gage looks like he’s fighting to hold back his tongue, so I raise my eyebrow. “What?”

Gage’s eyes flick toward the kitchen. “It seems like you might have had a few problems,” he says in a tone that I think is teasing.

I lean dramatically back in my chair. “Busted,” I groan. “I’m not a great cook. But it shouldn’t kill either of us. Which is a low bar, I admit…”

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