Page 77 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

“It’s no trouble,” I say, setting the dishes in the sink before moving next to her and placing a hand on her hip. “What are you making?”

She briefly stiffens but doesn’t pull away. “Butternut squash risotto.” She leans over to grab salt and pepper and sprinkles a pinch of each into the pot.

“Is that for me?”

“I’m testing a new recipe for my cookbook,” she says, her gaze shifting back to the stove.

Fallon’s drive is extraordinary. She’s carving out her own path and chasing dreams most wouldn’t dare pursue. Now that I know about her desire to own her own restaurant, I’ll do whatever I can to help without undermining her need for independence.

“Mind if I try a bite?” I ask with a hint of mischief.

She nods, lowering the spoon into the pot, and scoops out some risotto, cupping her hand beneath it. My gaze lingers on her lips as she blows on the food to cool it.

“Here,” she says, offering me the spoon.

Instead of taking it, I gently grip her wrist and lean in, tasting the risotto straight from the spoon. I savor the creamy bite, dragging my tongue along the surface to get every last morsel.

“Delicious,” I murmur.

Fallon’s piercing gaze is glued to mine, and I catch the faint tremble in her hand as she watches my every move.

“I’m glad you like it,” she whispers, lowering her head in a futile attempt to hide the blush spreading across her cheeks.

Being near her sharpens everything, like a lens finally coming into focus.

I’ve made my decision—I’ll do whatever it takes to get another shot with her. The problem is that she’s caught in an internal struggle, and I don’t fault her for it. I didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat when she arrived, and until recently, I’ve done everything to make her life more difficult.

Not anymore.

“I’m playing in a charity hockey game tonight, and I want you there,” I blurt out.

Real smooth, Harrison.

A flicker of disappointment crosses Fallon’s face before it’s gone. “What time does it start?” she asks, busying herself with getting out a clean spoon. “I usually have more time to prepare, so my menu options will be limited. I hope that’s alright.” She avoids my gaze as she goes back to stirring the risotto.

My hand moves to her jaw, tilting her face to meet my gaze. “You misunderstand. I don’t want you to come as a private chef—I’m asking you to be my date.” I cringe inwardly. That sounded far smoother in my head, and there’s a good chance my poor delivery could send her running. Damn, I’m definitely out of practice—back in the day, I would have executed that line perfectly.

Fallon scrunches her nose. “Your date?”

I caress her cheek with the pad of my thumb. “No pressure—I wasn’t implying anything. I’d really like to have you there, but if you’d rather not go, I understand.”

“Who else did you invite?” she asks.

“My sister, Presley, and her boyfriend, Jack.”

I rarely play hockey anymore, but they don’t miss a game when I do. I’m relieved my parents weren’t able to come out for this one. My mom doesn’t know how to hold back, and if she saw Fallon and me spending time together outside of a professional capacity, she’d probably start grilling us about our currentnonexistent relationship. Now that would definitely scare Fallon off.

Fallon turns down the heat on the stove and sets the spoon on a small saucer. “Oh, it sounds like a family thing. I wouldn’t want to intrude,” she says hesitantly.

She’s usually a force to be reckoned with, so seeing her uncertain doesn’t sit well with me.

“Consider this your chance to get dirt on me without being interrupted. Presley’s got plenty of stories and loves spilling my secrets,” I tease with an exaggerated side eye.

“Will I have to interact with any of the puck bunnies?”

My eyes widen, taken aback by the unexpected question. “Absolutely not. They sit in the stands, too focused on the players to notice anyone else.”

She quirks a brow. “Even you?”

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