Page 112 of When the Storm Breaks
“But thank you.”
My heart flips at that. An unexpected little somersault.
I take a deep breath and peel off Haiyden’s sweatshirt, laying it carefully over the back of his kitchen chair.
He quirks an eyebrow, his lip twitching. “Oh, it’s that kind of dinner?” He pauses before laughing. “You know Chase hasn’t left yet, right?”
I roll my eyes. “Shut up.”
His smirk deepens, but I ignore it, rolling up my sleeves. “Where’s your cutting board?”
He points to the cabinet next to the stove, and I crouch down tograb it. I hear his footsteps as he leaves the room, and a moment later, he’s back—fresh bottle of wine in hand.
The same red I brought to Christmas.
Reaching past me, he grabs two wine glasses and uncorks the bottle while I rummage through his cabinets for pots and pans. I settle on a pot just big enough for a box of pasta and a small, circular pan—almost identical to the one I use at home.
I coat the pan in olive oil just as Haiyden moves behind me, his hands suddenly gripping my ass in a rough squeeze.
I startle, the bottle tilting too far in my hand—oil spilling in a wild, unmeasured stream.
I huff out a breath, setting the bottle down and screwing the cap back on with exaggerated calm before turning to him. He’s grinning.
“If the sauce is too oily, it’s your fault.”
He leans in, breath warm against my ear.
“Yes, Chef.”
He spins me around, pinning me against the counter, and his lips claim mine. Heat stirs low in me, twisting tighter, and for a second, dinner is the last thing on my mind.
I’m just about ready to forget my entire plan when I hear a loud, theatrical gasp from the hallway.
“Oh my God, myvirgin eyes!” Chase shrieks, mock horrified.
I shove Haiyden away—maybe a little harder than necessary—and turn back to the stove, taking a deep breath.
Focus, Calla. You came here to cook. Control yourself.
I hear Chase’s laugh behind me. “I’m out. See ya!”
I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, finally starting to relax.
“Hey, Calla?”
I turn, cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. “Yeah?”
“Whatever this is, I’m happy if you guys are.”
He says it casually, like it’s nothing—like he didn’t just breathe life into the very thing Haiyden and I have been avoiding:what this is.
Still, my heart softens a little, grateful for his words.
Then he adds, “As long as it doesn’t happen on my couch!”
The door slams shut behind him, but his laughter echoes down the hallway.
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. “I hate him.”
