Page 43 of Twisted Paths

There’s a pause. A tiny hesitation, like he’s considering something.

Then, in that low, impossibly steady voice of his, he says, “I make poached eggs on toast for breakfast.”

I frown slightly, caught off guard. “Good to know?”

He clears his throat. “Just saying… if you fancy that, maybe you should bring some pyjamas.”

I freeze.

The words hang there between us, casual as anything, but I hear what he’s really saying. He’s not asking me to stay. Not outright. He’s leaving it open, giving me the choice, making it easy for me to brush it off as a joke if I want to.

Smart man.

I swallow, my grip tightening on my phone. “Is that your way of saying you’re planning to seduce me with food, Evans?”

He hums. “I don’t need food for that.”

Oh.

I stare at the wall, desperately trying to act like my entire body isn’t tingling.

I clear my throat. “Well, I do love poached eggs.”

“Good,” he says, maddening calm, like he hasn’t just completely derailed my ability to function. “See you at six.”

And then, he hangs up.

I stand there for a long moment, staring at my phone, brain short-circuiting, stomach doing some kind of ridiculous gymnastics routine.

He wants me to stay over… again.

I glance at the clock.

I have exactly three hours to decide if I’m bringing pyjamas.

I lean back into the sofa, swirling the last sip of wine in my glass, feeling warm and far too comfortable in Luke’s living room.

Dinner was ridiculously good. I knew he could cook but I hadn’t expected something this good. Slow-roasted pork, crispy crackling, buttery mashed potatoes, roasted carrots with honey glaze. The kind of meal you order in a fancy gastropub, not casually whip up in your kitchen like it’s no big deal.

I let out a contented sigh, stretching my legs out slightly. “Alright,” I admit. “I’ll give it to you. That was probably the best roast pork I’ve ever had.”

Luke, sitting beside me, takes a slow sip of his drink. “Probably?”

I smirk, shifting to face him. “I mean, Abby does make a solid Sunday roast.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So, your sister is my competition?”

I nod solemnly. “Big shoes to fill.”

Luke tilts his head slightly, like he’s considering something. “Guess I’ll have to keep cooking for you, then,” he winks.

Butterflies. Thousands of butterflies. I keep my expression calm, tilting my head. “Is this your way of luring me back here with food?”

He smirks slightly. “Is it working?”

I exhale a laugh, shaking my head. “Maybe.”

His gaze drops to my mouth for just a fraction of a second, but I catch it.

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