Page 24 of Snowed In on Valentine's Day

Crap, I said that aloud? “Uh, no. Just your imagination, dude.” I made my best attempt at a smirk.

He raised an eyebrow but merely turned around, continuing on his way.

I shook my head at my awkwardness and padded back to the sitting room, where I gathered up the blankets and sank into the couch. Well, more like flopped onto the couch, since it wasn’t the kind you sink into. See,thatseemed more Peter-like. A firm couch. Not slippers and sweats. I chuckled. I must still be tired out of my mind.

As I lay with my eyes closed and my head warm in my cap though, the salty, savory smell of frying bacon assaulted my senses. I pulled the blanket over most of my face, trying to block it out. I couldn’t believe the man actually cooked. Well, maybe it made sense since he didn’t seem to have anyone else living here. But I imagined someone like him ordering from a fancy meal delivery service or a local fine dining place.

Then again, no one would be delivering in this weather. Perhaps this wasn’t usually his thing.

Yes, that fit my vision of him better.

His food would probably not even taste good, since he didn’t know what he was doing in the kitchen, most likely.

I definitely wasn’t hungry. Not at all. I’d take a nice, long nap and then …

Bacon.

It was all I could think about.

Maybe eggs too.

But,bacon.

I couldn’t handle it.

Absent any conscious decision, I found myself throwing off the covers and rising, following the scent down two hallways toward the only other room where I’d seen a light on.

I gasped when stepping into the room. The kitchen was only medium-sized, but it was one of the most beautiful I’d ever seen. It somehow blended an early twentieth-century aesthetic with contemporary appliances and fixtures, and the result should’ve been tacky, but it was anything but.

And in the center of it all, Peter looked up from the bread he’d been buttering on the massive kitchen island counter.

He had a plain black apron on, tied around his trim waist. His hair was a bit mussed, but not in a bad way—definitely not. And his full lips … they were glistening, with a tiny dab of purple near the corner.

Suddenly realizing I was staring, I blinked rapidly and pretended to check out the room before my eyes returned to his. Stepping forward, I pointed to the corner of my own mouth and then vaguely toward his. “You have a little something, right here.”

He set down the butter knife and touched the right corner of his mouth.

“No, the other side.” It was all I could do to avoid walking around the island to wipe it off for him. I watched him check the other side.

“Ah, is it gone now? Just some grape jam probably. I was sampling the food, sorry.”

I opened my mouth, which remained suspended for a long moment before I closed it. “Uh, it’s fine.” Better than fine. “Maybe you’re human after all.”

I clamped my hand over my mouth and scrunched my face in an expression of epic regret. “Crap, I can’t believe I just said that. I’m so sorry. Sometimes my, uh, my mouth moves faster than my inhibitions.”

His eyes were glued to mine, and he just shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“What’s fine?” I heard myself asking.

His brows furrowed slightly before he answered, “What you said, it’s fine.” With that, he returned his attention to the bread, and I watched him spread butter on a piece alongside another slice with jam.

“It looks delicious,” I said. “Actually, itsmellsdelicious, which is why I’m here. Do you mind if I … that is, if you have any leftovers, I’ll take them. Or I could cook something for myself. I’m actually a great cook and an even better baker. But you already knew that, right?” I frowned. “Unless you didn’t like my gift a couple weeks ago? If you froze the cookies, you must not have wanted to eat them all.”

He let out a long sigh but didn’t look up. I realized then I’d been rambling, as well as fishing for compliments. “I mean, it’s OK either way. You know what, I’ll just make myself—”

“Hazel, just relax. I made plenty of food for both of us. And your cookies were fine.” He walked over to the stove to check on the eggs and then turned off the burner.

“Well, can I help at least?” I walked over and picked up the plate of bacon without waiting for his answer, which never came anyway.

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