Page 37 of All It Takes

“Balsamic vinegar, maple syrup, and pepper. My mom swears by it. Putting it under the broiler for a few minutes will caramelize the glaze,” I explained.

“Oooh! You’re an official cook.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know if anything about my cooking is official, but I enjoy it. My mom’s a good cook and taught me while I was growing up. She said she refused to raise a son who didn’t know his way around the kitchen.”

“My dad’s a pretty good cook and taught Chase too. And me,” she added with a laugh. “I would call myself a serviceable cook. Nothing amazing.

“Is your dad around?” she asked, her tone uncertain.

“My parents split up when I was pretty young.”

I slid the pan under the broiler and adjusted the temperature. As I turned, I asked, “Beer, wine, or water?”

“What are you having?”

“For the moment, water. I’ll probably have a beer after we eat.”

Tiffany grinned. “Perfect. I’ll take water.”

I filled two glasses with water, adding ice when she said she would like some. After putting the water down in front of her, I said, “I’ll finish getting our food ready. But back to your question, my dad’s not in Willow Brook. He and my mom never married. He was…” I shrugged. “Not the most around guy. Not a bad guy. He’s up in Fairbanks now. We talk here and there, but not much. He’s worked on the North Slope for years. What about your parents? You talk about your dad often, but how is your mom?”

Her expression tightened briefly before she took a deep breath and let it out in a controlled sigh. “My mom passed away.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to know. And thank you.”

Tiffany was quiet for a few beats, and I carefully spooned some of the marinade into the seasoned rice and then stirred the vegetables in. I waited, trying to give her the space to explain or not.

“Maybe the details were different, but my mom sounds kind of like your dad. She traveled a lot when we were growing up. She and my dad weren’t the happiest couple. He was the steady parent, and she wasn’t. She was always looking for new jobs. We didn’t have the greatest relationship.” Her lips twisted as she shrugged.

“Parents aren’t perfect,” I offered lightly.

“Definitely not. Although my dad’s awesome. He’s about as close to perfect of a dad as you could get.”

I grinned over at her. “Nice. My mom’s about perfect. I suppose if we get one good parent, that’s lucky.”

Tiffany shifted the topic after that, talking about work, asking me about firefighting, and sharing that she liked being back in Willow Brook because she could run a whole clinic. Once we were seated and eating, she took her first bite of salmon. Closing her eyes, she let out a satisfied moan.

My body tightened in reaction. I tried to tell myself she was just moaning over the food, but my body knew what Tiffany sounded like when her senses were satisfied. Her eyes opened as she finished chewing and swallowed. Fuck me.

“Fuck. This is amazing, Wes.”

I almost pointed out that I would happily fuck her, but I kept my focus on the conversation. “Glad you like it.”

Between dinner and cleaning up, the next half an hour or so felt like kitchen foreplay. Watching Tiffany eat was something—the flexion of her throat when her tongue darted to the corner of her mouth to swipe an errant drop of marinade, the pink on her cheeks—and all of it drove the flames higher and higher. The engine of my arousal was revving.

Then came the cleanup. She insisted that I shouldn’t be part of picking up the dishes, rinsing them, and putting them in the dishwasher. All the while, my body felt like a tuning fork, solely attuned to her every motion. The subtle swing of her hips when she crossed from the sink to fetch the dish towel she left on the corner of the counter and returning to lean over and put something in the dishwasher felt like torture.

When she finally,fucking finally, rinsed her hands in the sink and dried them before hanging the dish towel over the handle of the dishwasher, I was at the end of my tether. It was frayed and about to snap.

She turned around, resting her hips against the counter, and announced, “There.”

I pushed away from the counter where my palm had been resting on it, taking two steps to stand in front of her. I rested my hands on the counter, caging her between my arms.

Her eyes darkened as her lashes lifted to meet my gaze. Her arms were crossed. We simply looked at each other, the moment stretching out like hot liquid honey dripping from a spoon.

Her tongue darted out to slide across her lips before she took a sharp breath in. I waited.

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