Page 11 of Twins for the Silver Foxes

The scent of pizza still lingered at the bottom of the stairs. I’d never seen anyone devour so much pizza in one go. Between Hannah and Liddy, we’d almost had to call out and order more. I smiled at the memory of Hannah’s surprise when I showed up with pizza and told her she had the night off to acclimate. Her eyes had gone round, her plump lower lip forming a delicate pout.

The kitchen door swung open beneath my palm, the oiled hinges allowing me to sneak into the bright, white space without a sound. The early morning brought out a need for coffee and food.

Hannah stood in front of the double-door refrigerator, her figure illuminated by the glow from the three hood lights spread out over the island. She opened both doors and peered inside. Her ass wiggled from side to side, her nails drumming a beat on the door handle. A steady thumping came from her phone on the counter, and when I looked closer, I caught a shimmer of white in her ears from her earbuds.

She straightened and turned, one arm loaded down with eggs and bacon. A squeak that almost resembled a cut off scream pierced the quiet. “What are you doing down here?” She clutched the eggs and bacon to her chest, slammed the door, then yanked both earbuds from her ears.

“Morning.” I crossed the kitchen to the coffee machine and tapped the sequence for my favorite mocha. “I often come downstairs early to help Deena with breakfast.”

Her brows arched. “Deena? Oh, your housekeeper.” She took an unsteady step backward and set her ingredients on the counter. “I thought this was part of my job?”

“It is.” I helped myself to my coffee and sank onto the nearest stool. Hooking my heels on the bottom rung, I watched her over the rim of my cup. The kitchen was a creative space like any other. Why shouldn’t I enjoy it? Especially the one in my own home. “But I also like to cook.” I waited a beat, swallowed a mouthful of scalding hot coffee, then set the cup down. “Is that a problem?”

“Um.” Hannah opened and closed cabinets seemingly at random. She fished deep in a cabinet beside the stove and came up holding a sauté pan. “It’s your house. I don’t know what the rules are, but I’m sure telling you no is a firing offense.”

I bit back a laugh. “I’m not quite as dramatic as that.”

“No?” She aimed the pan at me. “You look like you’d rather boil me alive than share the kitchen with me. How am I supposed to cook for you when you’re scowling at me like that?”

I smoothed my face into a passive smile. “Better?”

“No.” Without warning, she came around the counter to stand in front of me. Her blue pajama shorts and tank top set off the blue in her eyes. Her bare face begged to be touched, kissed.

“You’re frowning again.” One finger stretched over the space and ran down the line that always formed between my eyes. It shocked me to my core. Her touch turned my body into a live wire, heightening every sensation. I drew in a slow, steadying breath.

“You do not have to cookforme. I’d like to cookwithyou.”

Her index finger trailed down the bridge of my nose before falling away. She tucked her hands behind her back. “Fine. I’m making bacon and eggs. What are you making?”

“Pancakes.” I smiled at the shocked look. It was becoming my favorite expression because it took away the weight of worry crimping her brow. “Do you enjoy pancakes?”

“Do whales swim?” Pink colored her cheeks, and she waved both hands in front of her face. “Forget I said that. I’m used to working with preschoolers. My sense of humor isn’t fit for adult conversation.”

“On the contrary. I think it fits right in.” I stood from my seat and walked past her while trying to ignore the way her nipples poked through the thin material of her shirt. I was no saint, but I for damn sure could keep my cock in my pants when it came to women half my age.

It took far too much concentration to find what I needed. Cabinets I’d stocked myself were suddenly unfamiliar. The place where I kept the pancake mix stood empty. I opened and closed the door twice to make sure.

“Are you performing a magic trick?” Hannah appeared at my elbow and held up a box. “If you’re looking for this, I found it over there.”

I followed her pointing finger to a shelf on the right of the sink. “Who the hell put it there?”

“Doesn’t matter. Let’s cook.” She set the box beside the stove. “I get these two burners. You can have the other two.”

“What if that’s my favorite one?” I pointed out the one where she’d set her sauté pan.

“You can’t have a favorite when they all work.” She swatted my hand with a spatula when I reached out to move her pan. “Hands off.”

“How is that fair if you don’t have a favorite?” I threw the words back in her face and pulled my favorite bowl from the cabinet, along with my whisk.

She huffed, the tiny noise of protest causing strange flips in my stomach. “I saidyoucan’t have favorites. I can.”

“That’s not sound logic.”

“No one ever said I had to have sound logic. I work with preschoolers. Fair is fair.” Her voice rose in a sing-song. “You get what you get and you don’t pitch a fit.”

“Bloody horseshit.” I rounded on her, a sudden anger rushing up. “You do pitch a fit. You fight for what you want, what you deserve. You never lay down and roll over because some arsehole thinks they deserve it more than you.” My chest throbbed from the explosion of emotion. I rubbed a hand over my heart.

Hannah’s arms latched around my waist, the hug slamming us together so hard I lost my breath. “Thank you.” Her words muffled against my chest.

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