Page 32 of Loved By Aphrodite

They froze, and Hephaestus’s eyes widened slightly, his breath catching, and she swore she saw a flicker of something—hesitation? Desire?—before he broke the moment, stepping back abruptly.

“Uh, sorry,” he said again, rubbing the back of his neck.

She took a steadying breath, smoothing her dress as though it might erase the electricity that had passed between them. “It’s fine,” she said, forcing her voice to be breezy, though her heart was still racing. “Let’s just figure out what’s going on with this house.”

He cleared his throat. “Right, let’s see about this door.” He stepped forward and gripped the knob, his strength and confidence making it seem like the lock would snap under his hand. But the door didn’t budge. He frowned, trying again with more force.

She let out a smug laugh. “Having trouble?” she taunted, crossing her arms.

He turned to glare at her, but his sudden movement brought them face-to-face—too close for comfort. She instinctively leaned back, her breath catching as she stared directly into his eyes.

“Well,” she said quickly, trying to defuse the moment, “you know what they say—brains over brawn. Maybe you should try a gentler touch.”

He frowned, stepping back as much as the space allowed. “This isn’t the time for games,” he muttered, turning away from her.

“Games? Me? Never.”

He ignored her, striding toward the nearest window. But when he tried to open it, the glass wouldn’t budge. He furrowed his brow, tugging harder. Still nothing. “What the—” He jiggled the frame again before moving to another window with the same result.

She straightened, her teasing demeanor fading as she took a cautious step toward him. “You’re kidding.”

After trying the door to his workshop, he turned back to her, his expression serious now. “I’m not.”

She walked over to the nearest window and tried herself, adding a touch of magic for good measure. Nothing. The room was sealed tight, and her earlier confidence began to waver.

They exchanged a glance. “It’s like the house doesn’t want us to leave,” he said quietly.

She nodded, her unease growing. “Or something doesn’t want us to leave.”

All of a sudden, a loudpopechoed through the room, and both Aphrodite and Hephaestus jumped. They turned toward the kitchen to find groceries neatly arranged on the counter, accompanied by a piece of paper that hovered above them before gently floating down.

She reached out and snatched the paper mid-air, her brow furrowing as she scanned the handwriting.

“What is it?” he asked, stepping closer.

She held up the note, tilting it toward him. “It’s a recipe. Looks like we’re supposed to make dinner.”

He blinked at her, then at the ingredients. “What?”

She turned the paper over, looking for some kind of explanation, but there was none. She gestured at the groceries. “You heard me. I think this house—or whatever magic is at play—wants us to cook.”

He moved beside her to get a better look at the recipe, his closeness forcing her to hold her breath. He smelled like metal and earth, a scent that always made her feel strangely grounded. But now, it also made her want to kiss him.

He sighed, his broad shoulders rising and falling. “Well, I guess we’re making dinner.”

She huffed a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Better than starving, I suppose.”

They set to work, unpacking the groceries, and laying everything out. Hephaestus busied himself chopping vegetables, his precision and strength turning the task into a smooth,rhythmic process. She mixed spices, tasting as she went and occasionally making small, teasing comments about his overly methodical approach.

“Are you always this serious in the kitchen?” she asked, leaning over to steal a slice of carrot.

He smirked, his focus never leaving the knife. “Somebody has to keep things from burning down.”

“Funny, I don’t remember any fires when we lived here,” she said lightly, stirring the pot on the stove.

The words hung in the air, and Aphrodite stilled, the memories creeping back. Those quieter days in this house—days when they’d stood side by side in this very kitchen, raising Eros and navigating the chaos of their unconventional family—felt like a lifetime ago.

Hephaestus must have felt it, too, because his movements slowed. “It’s been a while,” he murmured.

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