Page 233 of The Winslow Brothers

“You brought home microwavable freezer meals, babe. I think it’s safe to say you were anticipating a fucking disaster.”

“I wasn’t!” I exclaim through several giggles. “I mean, I might’ve had the fire department on standby just in case, but…”

A soft, raspy chuckle jumps from his lungs.

“So…is this meal a one-hit wonder? Or can you cook more things?” I question and take another bite of my pasta. “Because, seriously, Flynn, this is otherworldly.”

“I can cook, Dais. Lots of shit,” he comments. “And I do recall I’ve made you a few things before. Steak. Eggs. Grilled chicken.”

Okay, he has a point. Hehascooked for me a time or two, but this is, like, gourmet kind of cooking. The type of cooking that involves spices I’ve probably never even heard of.

“And how did you learn this awesome skill?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “My mom, my aunt Paula, a few cooking classes here and there.”

“Wait…Flynn Winslow took cooking classes?”

He furrows his brow. “That’s strange to you?”

“I don’t know…” I look up at the ceiling and then back at him. “Maybe? I mean, you’re like the big, bad, sexy leather-jacket dude on a Harley, but you also cook like Julia flipping Child? It’s unexpected.”

He just smirks and dives back into his food.

And since I’m starving and this is the best damn fettuccine Alfredo I’ve ever tasted in my life, I do the same. But also, I make a mental note of the newest insight into Mr. Mystery.

He can cook. Like,reallycook.

He’s even taken cooking classes!

I don’t know why but the mere thought of Flynn in a cooking class makes me smile.

“Why are you smiling?” he asks, surprising me, and I look up from my plate again to meet the depths of his ocean-blue eyes.

“Because I’m a woman who loves delicious food, and one who just found out she’s married to Wolfgang Puck. Wait, no, Emeril Lagasse.No! Curtis Stone. Yeah, he’s the cutest of them all.” I wink. “Plus, the idea of you in a cooking class with a chef’s hat on is an amazing visual.”

He shakes his head on a laugh. “I’ve never worn a chef’s hat in my life.”

“Oh, don’t even try to ruin this visual, Flynn. In my fantasy, you’re definitely wearing a chef’s hat.”

“In yourfantasy?” he questions with a raise of one curious brow. “If you want me to fuck you with a chef’s hat on, all you have to do is say so.”

“You wouldn’t, you liar.”

He just stares back at me, and I know instantly, he actuallywoulddo that. Flynn Winslow is a man of his word. And he’s also a man I’m always desperate to find out more things about. Things that no one else knows. Only me.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, but what about the chef’s hat fucking, Daisy? Or the spanking? Those sound promising…

“Flynn!” I call toward the living room where I know post-dinner Flynn is currently relaxing on the couch, watching whatever boring sports game is on ESPN. “Your presence is requested in the kitchen!”

A minute later, he’s standing in the doorway, and his eyes survey my setup on the counters.

“What is all this?”

“Cake baking time,” I answer and hold out the paper chef’s hat I made just for him. “Here. Put this on.”

When he doesn’t take it, I stand up on my tippy-toes and shove it on his head. After one pat to his broad, firm chest, I grin up at him. “There. Perfect.”

“What’s the plan, Daisy?”

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