Page 41 of Smoke Show

I went to work, glancing up occasionally for added inspiration.

Brady expertly flipped the thinly sliced chicken he'd seasoned at the stove, and my mouth watered as the heady scents of garlic and ginger filled the air.

Slowly, I brought my own attempt at seduction to life on the page, careful to keep my work hidden from Brady.

We worked in silence, Brady slowly assembling a mouth-watering stir fry, while I illustrated every dirty fantasy I'd been harboring.

I squirmed, wishing I could stay aloof to my nude studies, but unable to deny the way drawing Brady made me feel - like I wanted to ruin dinner.

"Ready?" Brady asked, as he turned off the heat to the stove, plating portions for each of us and setting them on the kitchen table.

"So ready," I nearly whimpered, quickly tugging a stray kitchen towel over my sketch book to maintain some semblance of modesty.

My stomach rumbled and Brady smiled across the island.

"Let's eat."

I glanced down to the edge of a drawing that stuck out from under the red towel, depicting just that.

He looked so proud of dinner, and it smelled amazing. I didn't have the heart to show him what I'd been working on. Yet.

I slid from my stool, joining him at the kitchen table.

"It looks amazing, Brady. Thank you."

The bright carrots and celery and tender chicken made a beautiful presentation, while the aroma reminded me of restaurants back home. That was one thing I missed in Campfire; it didn't have the same restaurant variety that I'd been spoiled by, growing up in a bigger, more diverse, metro area.

"It's the least I could do for my partner in crime," he said, looking pleased at my compliment.

I choked out a laugh. "Brady, I think you and I have very different definitions of that word."

"All kidding aside, I really appreciate you helping me with the play. I don't have an artistic bone in my body, and while I love Gwen like a sister, if I'd convinced her to help, we'd be doing theSnow Queenin front of a bank of greenery. I'm thankful for your skills."

I could only hope that once he got a good look at my artistic imaginings of him, he wouldn't reconsider his praise.

"Thanks," I said faintly, trying not to glance at my sketchbook, currently full of naughty drawings of us.

"I'd love to have you join me at Thanksgiving, if it's not too much pressure. My mom usually invites half the town, so it's not a big deal."

Thoughts of his mom and shared holidays cooled me, making it easier to focus on eating my dinner.

"I'd like that," I said.

We chatted about favorite holiday foods, Brady sharing stories of past Thanksgiving extravaganzas, and me adding anecdotes from my own, much smaller family gatherings. It felt nice. Friendly, even. Which made the underlying edge of lust and panic even harder to bear.

Brady really shouldn't have downplayed his moves. Between cooking for me, the way he cared for his students, and the way he spoke about his family and friends, all good-hearted grace and admiration, my insides had turned to mush. It shouldn't have been sexy. But I felt close to him, in a way I hadn't with other boyfriends. Brady had made me feel like part of his life. Like I fit.

After years of being the odd one out, first in my parents' new families, then thanks to my own impulsive affair, my arrival in Campfire had heralded a major change in my life. I'd found a real home for the first time in years. I'd be forever grateful for Gwen and the unofficial campfire council's welcome – Gwen, Sophie, Jo, and Izzy felt like the sisters I never had. They hadn't needed to include the sad new girl in their nights around the fire, or in their plans to run the town. I was the weird chick with the dark makeup and the standoffish attitude. But they'd won me over, welcoming me into their Campfire family. I'd been content on my own, then found my place as part of their pack as I let down my guard around them. But I'd remained convinced that I didn't need romance or a man in my life.

The last thing I'd expected was to find Brady. A man who made me feel like his. And made me like it.

We finished dinner, and I helped Brady clean up, not sure if I wanted to rush or go slowly, drawing out the anticipation.

When the last dish had been dried and put away, he extended a hand to me.

"Join me in the living room? We can watch a show, or something?"

I arched my brows, borrowing confidence to match him, move for move.

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