Page 22 of Triplet Babies for Pucking Christmas

I nod, standing up. “Good. You can move in tonight if you want. We’ll figure out rent later.”

She stands up too, looking a little relieved. “Thank you. Seriously. I won’t let you down.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” I mutter, walking her toward the door. “You can take the upstairs guest room. Make yourself at home. Just keep it tidy.”

She gives me a small smile and nods. “I will. Thanks again, Troy.”

I watch her leave, her shoulders a little slumped as she walks out to grab her bags. She’s a tough one, I can tell.

But underneath that, there’s something fragile, something she’s trying to hold together.

As soon as the door closes, I shake my head and head back to the gym. I have no idea what I just got myself into, but it’s only a week.

How bad could it be?

Chapter Nine

Troy

She stays upstairs for a while, maybe half an hour. Long enough for me to lose myself in the brand deal emails Jared’s sent me. It’s mindless stuff, shit I need to deal with but don’t want to, so I welcome the distraction when I hear her footsteps on the stairs.

I glance up from my phone, expecting her to look the same as when she came in: cute, a little disheveled from a long day.

But fuck me.

When she walks into the kitchen, my stomach drops. Savannah’s cleaned up, and now? She’s a fucking knockout.

Her long, smooth legs are on full display, thanks to those tiny denim shorts she’s wearing. Her T-shirt is tight in all the right places, with some kind of sarcastic quote on it I don’t even register because my eyes are locked on her shiny pink lips.And she’s carrying an apron, but it’s not some frilly bullshit—it’s practical, with stains that show she’s used it.

And goddamn, she’shot.

I shift in my seat as I feel myself harden in my sweats. Great. Perfect timing.

“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Everything good with the room?”

She smiles, and I swear it’s like a punch to the gut. “Yeah, it’s perfect,” she says, looking around the kitchen like she’s assessing her battlefield. “So, do you want to talk about the whole chef thing now?”

“Yeah,” I reply, standing up to grab some water from the fridge. I need something to cool me down. “Let’s discuss it.”

She bites her lip, and there’s a twinkle in her eye that makes something warm curl low in my spine. “Can I make you a grilled cheese first?”

I raise an eyebrow, curious. “Why?”

She grins, her eyes playful. “Because I feel like I can negotiate a better salary if you’re smiling.”

I let out a short laugh, surprised. Is sheflirtingwith me? God, it feels like it. “Go ahead,” I say, leaning against the counter. “We’ll discuss it while you cook.”

She nods, then walks over to the cabinets, opening them one by one, poking around like a kid in a toy store. “Do you actually use these appliances, or are they just for show?”

I shake my head, watching her with a growing grin. “I’m not much of a cook.”

Her laugh is light and infectious. “You’ve got a killer kitchen. I could have a field day in here.”

She’s still smiling, like she’s in her element, as she pulls out a few ingredients. Bread, cheese, butter—simple stuff. But the way she moves around the kitchen, like it’s second nature, makes me smile despite myself.

She reaches for a pan on the top shelf, stretching up on her toes, but she’s too short. I step in before I even think about it, grabbing it for her. When I hand it to her, she’s so close, I catch the scent of vanilla. It’s subtle but enough to fuck with my head.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, looking up at me, and for a second, we’re standing there, way too close.

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