Page 81 of 1 Last Shot

Hardening my jaw, I look again at the chicken parmesan recipe on my phone. Damnit, Iwantto cook for myself. And I want to eat something that's not grilled protein and vegetables, because for the first time in my life, I don't need to have five percent body fat.

Determined to at leasttry, I reach for a sauce labeled 'Original.'

Half an hour later, that determination has waned a little bit.

Okay, a lot.

Frowning at my first attempt at breading the chicken, I feel my frustration mount. It looks blotchy, with chunks of panko on some parts and flour peeking through on others. It doesnotlook like the chicken in the video I'm watching. And that's not even to say anything about my nervous glances at the oil currently heating in my skillet.

Just then, my phone rings. Dropping the disproportionately breaded chicken breast on the plate, I wipe my hands on my leggings and answer without looking at who it is.

"Hello?"

"Princess," comes a deep baritone. I suck in a breath at the way it immediately makes my body heat.

"Hey," I respond, my voice breathy even to my own ears.

"What're you doing right now?"

I frown at my phone. “Um, I’m home. What’s going on? I thought you were working tonight.”

“I was. But it’s dead in here, and they let me go since I’ve been taking all the late closing shifts. Figured I’d call to see what you’re doing.”

I glare at my counter that looks like a tornado ran through it. “I’m attempting to make myself dinner." Sighing in defeat, I add, "I would tell you to come over, but I don't have nearly enough faith in my cooking abilities to promise you edible food." I don't admit the part that the idea of Kane watching me struggle through this would be mortifying.

His chuckle sounds in my ear. "At least tell me you're wearing a cute little apron."

I glance down at my flour-covered leggings and tank top. "I can say that and lie, if you want."

"Guess I know what I'm getting you for your birthday."

I bite into my bottom lip to smother my smile even though he can’t see it. Because the sound of Kane making future plans still makes me downright giddy.

I force my focus back to the phone call. "It will probably never get used, if this cooking expedition is anything to go by. I'll be lucky if I don't burn our building down by the end of the night."

There's a pause, and Kane's voice has noticeably sobered when he says, "I can teach you how to make something simple, if you want."

"You know how to cook?" I ask, the surprise evident in my voice. “I mean, I’ve obviously seen you make breakfast foods, but dinner is a whole other story.”

There's another pause, and when he answers, the reason for it is apparent. "I had to learn how to feed myself pretty early on."

I sober immediately at the reminder of his childhood. But in the same breath, it also launches me past my cooking hesitation, and reaffirms my desire to give him positive memories to replace his bad ones.

"I'd love to have you teach me," I tell him softly.

"Okay," he answers, sounding pleased even through the phone. “I'm driving home now. Try not to burn anything down in the next twenty minutes."

With timing that only the universe is capable of, the skillet on my stove spits hot oil in my direction. I let out an involuntary yelp and shut off the stove top.

"No promises," I say with a weak laugh.

* * *

A knock sounds at my door, and I swing it open to find Kane and a smiling Oscar sitting at his feet.

"Hi," I squeak.

I clear my throat and focus on Oscar in an attempt to appear more normal, and less like I have stars in my eyes. "Hi, buddy."

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