Page 50 of Fumbled Beginning

“Where did you learn to cook?” she asked, moving the chicken around with the wooden spoon.

I dropped the plate in the sink to rinse it off. “I waited tables when I was in high school. My buddy Adam was the chef, so I would hang out in the kitchen with him when we weren’t busy.”

“I bet you were pretty popular with the ladies.”

“They were all old and married, but they tipped pretty good.” I smirked.

“I bet they did.” She nudged me in the side. “How about your mom, did she cook?”

“Yep.” I sipped my wine. “But with three boys, she didn’t want us hanging out in the kitchen. It was her space. The only time we were allowed in was when dishes needed to be washed or the trash needed to be taken out.”

She laughed. “The only way Maverick would find his way in the kitchen was if there was a plate of cookies that needed to be eaten.”

“Now, that’s not true. He can grill, I know that for a fact.” I raised a brow and grabbed a wet cloth to wipe down the counter. “So, stop lying.”

She huffed, not liking being called out. “I’m not lying; I just don’t want you thinking he’s more domesticated than me. Grilling a steak doesn’t make him a chef.”

A laugh bubbled out of me. “Competitive much?”

“I’m just jealous that you are better than me at this. I assumed you had a personal chef who did all your cooking.”

“I believe what you’re trying to say is you’re impressed.” I pressed my body against her back and put my hand on her hip to look over her shoulder. I allowed my breath to tickle her ear. “You’re doing a good job.”

She turned in my arms and poked me in the side. “It’s early yet, give me time.”

We worked around each other comfortably in my kitchen. Every few minutes, I would brush my hands along her side or purposely breathe into her neck while giving her directions. I liked having her in my space more than I expected.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, breaking through my thoughts. I pulled it out and rolled my eyes.

“Rhett, what’s up?”

“Are you open to hanging out tonight?” I could hear a loud nineties rap song playing in the background. “I can gather up the crew and pick up the booze.”

I glanced at Rylee, who was paying extra attention to the chicken. “Not tonight, buddy.”

“Why, whatcha doin’?”

“I’ve got company.” I winked, giving Rylee’s hip a squeeze.

“You invited people over and didn’t tell me?”

“I have a guest, not people.”

Rylee bit down on her bottom lip and smiled.

“Wait.” He turned down the music. “What kind of guest?”

I could hear the confusion in his voice, and knowing Rhett, it would take me hours to explain this recent development to him. “Would you like to say hi and find out for yourself?” Rylee giggled while turning the burner down on the stove.

“Is that Rylee? Did you finally make your move?” he whispered into the phone.

“Yes, we’re dating.”

Silence.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah, I just can’t believe it. Does Mav know?”

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