Page 115 of Lassoed Love

“Oh, Luna, girl,” Isla murmurs, rubbing underneath her chin, Luna’s tongue hanging out with content. “You found your home, beautiful.” She looks up at me, eyes still sparkling. “This makes me so happy. Thankyou, Xav.”

“Thankyoufor bringing her into my life,” I say sincerely, my gaze lingering on Isla. Luna seems to sense the gratitude in the air, and she nuzzles against Isla’s leg, tail still wagging.

In that moment, I can’t help but marvel at how Luna has seamlessly become a part of this little world we're building. It’s only been a week or so, but already, she’s proven to be a real asset. Isla’s presence in my life, along with the addition of Luna, has brought a new kind of warmth to the farm, and I find myself appreciating it more than I can express.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner?” I suggest a hopeful tone in my voice. The thought of her leaving again doesn’t sit well with me.

“I can whip us up something, and we can… uhm, spend more time together.”

She hesitates, uncertainty flickering in her gaze. Not wanting to give her too much time to dwell on it, I quickly add, “No one’s home today. Mum and Dad are off to some wedding about an hour away—they’ve driven up and are staying there for the night. Brad’s gone back to Goulburn for another week before he can stay again. Liv won’t be home either.” I silently make a mental note to shoot Liv a quick text, suggesting she extend her time out. She won’t mind—she’s always up for some solo adventures. Anything to ensure Isla stays for dinner and we get a chance to catch up.

Fuck, why do I sound so desperate? But then again, that’s what she does to me.

Isla hesitates for a moment, uncertainty evident in her gaze, but eventually, she nods. “Yes. I’d like that.”

The cosy warmth of my house envelops us as Isla settles comfortably on the kitchen island, a glass of her favourite coke in hand—a little thoughtful gesture on my part.

“What are you in the mood for? I can make anything, so tell me,” I offer, glancing over my shoulder. Isla, with a playful smile, rises from her seat, determination in her eyes.

“Why don’t I whip something up for you? It’s the least I can do, you know, after everything.”

I start to protest, “No, don’t be silly, I’ll cook for—” but she cuts off my words with a determined look. My protest is halted as she cuts in, “Xav, sit. Let me cook.”

“Yes ma’am,” I concede, taking a seat at the kitchen bench where Isla had just been. The warmth from her recent presence lingers on the seat, a subtle reminder of her proximity.

As Isla takes charge of the kitchen, I observe her with a mix of amusement and appreciation. When she asks where things are, I just point in the general direction, letting her find her way. She moves with a natural grace, effortlessly navigating the space as if she’s lived here forever. The clinking of utensils and the sizzling sounds from the stove create a comforting rhythm.

As I watch her, a warmth settles within me, a sense of contentment at the domestic scene unfolding. It feels so normal, so right. In that moment, a vivid image flashes in my mind—Isla in our kitchen, barefoot, her tummy full with our child. The thought halts me in my tracks.

Where did that come from? I had never envisioned the futureso vividly before, and it stirs something deep within me, intensifying my love for her in ways I couldn’t have imagined.

I shake off the sudden intensity of my thoughts. Fuck, I’ve got it bad. It is becoming increasingly clear that I need to tell her. My love for Isla is growing, evolving into something profound, and I can’t keep it to myself any longer.

“So, what’s on the menu, Chef?” I tease, propping my chin on my hands as I lean on the kitchen bench.

Isla shoots me a playful glance over her shoulder. “Well, how about spaghetti bolognese? It’s a classic.”

I chuckle. “Sounds perfect. But you didn’t have to go through all this trouble, you know.”

She turns towards me, a twinkle in her eye. “Consider it my thank you for adopting Luna. Besides, I enjoy cooking. I’d never had the urge for it until now.”

As she continues to work her culinary magic, I can’t help but appreciate the easy banter that has settled between us again. It feels like a comfortable dance, each step bringing us closer. The air is filled with the enticing scent of the simmering sauce, a tangible warmth that extends beyond the kitchen.

Deciding to contribute to the setup, I get up to set the table for the two of us. I place the table mats, arrange the cutlery, and grab glasses. Wanting to add a touch of romance, I even dash upstairs to snag a candle from my sister’s room. When Isla shoots me an inquisitive glance, a smile playing on her lips, I wink at her, well aware of the effect it has on her every single time. However, I push these thoughtsaside, not wanting to sport a fucking hard-on before dinner even begins.

Before long, Isla sets two steaming pots of bolognese sauce and spaghetti in front of us at the dining table, the aroma inviting.

“Voilà! Bon appétit,” she declares, a proud smile on her face. Deciding to extend some hospitality, I offer her a drink, suggesting a beer or something else. Opting for wine, she politely asks if I have any. Knowing Mum keeps a whole heap in the fridge, I pad over and grab a bottle of Brown Brothers moscato, along with a beer for myself. Snagging a wine glass from the cupboard, I bring it all to the table.

“Is moscato okay? Dunno what the difference is, but they all look the same,” I quip.

“Moscato is fine,” she says with a smile.

As we sit next to each other, preparing to dive into the delicious meal Isla has crafted, I feel a surge of anticipation. However, before things can progress further, I stand abruptly, prompting Isla to inquire, “What, what?”

“Nothing, sorry,” I respond with a laugh, not meaning to have startled her, “just going to play some music, to uh… set the mood.”

She teases, “First the candle, now music. My, my, what have you done with the grumpy Xavier?”

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