Page 50 of His Greatest Treasure

My laugh is short but loud. “I’m serious.”

“I’m not going to prank you. I figured you’d be hungry, and with Nova gone, I wasn’t sure if you’d make a meal for yourself big enough to restore all the energy you spent at the store today.”

I roll my lips inward, staring down at my feet smooshing his grass when the urge to smile starts to eat at me. “So, you didn’t accidentally drop a steak, then.”

“No, princess. I didn’t.”

The confirmation that he cooked dinner for me because he was worried . . . I stop keeping the three inches of distance between us and cautiously move closer.

He either doesn’t notice my sudden closeness or finds it okay because he doesn’t move away. Even when we climb the front steps, he stays beside me, our shoulders knocking on the way to the top.

A key ring that doesn’t resemble mine in the slightest with thelack of bright, handmade accessories slips over his thumb before he unlocks his front door and ushers us inside.

“Our layouts are pretty similar. I replaced the flooring on both levels last year and updated the kitchen a bit. Took out the old sink and put in a new one, then painted the cabinets,” he says, holding the door open with his arm for me to head in first.

I survey the space and grow jealous of the dark wood floors that put my scratched orangey-brown ones to shame. The upgrade is obvious, and I’m a second from asking—begging—him to help me with mine when he interrupts my train of thought.

“Come and eat. I don’t want the food to get too cold.”

“Did you do any more renovations other than the floors and the kitchen?” I ask, too curious not to.

“Yes. There were two extra bedrooms upstairs, so I turned one into a gym. And the basement wasn’t finished when I bought the place, so I hung the drywall, painted, and carried the hardwood down there. The bathroom is still a work in progress.”

“So, you’re a real-life Bob the Builder, then.”

“I watch a lot of YouTube tutorials,” he says, his palm skimming my back again, this time swiping up my spine. “The kitchen, Avery. I’ll show you all of the renovations after you eat.”

Refusing to purr like a cat at the affectionate touch, I let him guide me down the hall and through the archway that opens into the kitchen. The floor plan is identical to my house, just a lot brighter due to the lack of brown walls.

His kitchen sink is a white farmhouse one instead of the double steel kind, and the cabinets are a deep green that’s emphasized by the marble countertops and white tile backsplash.

“You did a good job,” I tell him sincerely, watching as he shifts away from me to grab two plates from the corner cabinet.

Setting them beside the one already on the counter with two thick steaks on it, he says, “Thanks. My dad helped a lot.”

“How often do you see your family?”

“A few times a week and a big dinner every Sunday.” He startsdishing up our plates and piles a heaping serving of pasta salad on my plate next to the steak. “There’s no eggs in it.”

“Really? You didn’t want to take the opportunity to make me eat them again?”

“No. Once was enough.”

I don’t reply, and a comfortable silence settles over us while he digs utensils out of a drawer and then hands me my food.

“I won’t be able to eat all of this,” I gasp at the mountain of food.

He jostles a shoulder. “Try. I think I remembered how you liked it cooked. Brown with a little pink, right?”

“Yes.” My heart bangs around in my chest when I realize he’s cut the steak into bite-sized pieces already.

“If you tell me that you’re capable of cutting your own steak, I’ll hand feed it to you.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Good. Do you want to eat on the couch?”

He carries his plate over to me and stands close, searching my face as he waits for an answer. The piles of food on my plate don’t come close to what’s on his. It’s not surprising, considering how massive he is and what he does for a living, but it takes me aback anyway.

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