Page 86 of Broken Daddy

When I stand to find Nathan staring at me with those intense dark green eyes, I should jump—I should be startled.

But he has the opposite effect on me. Instead, everything in me quiets. All the worries piled up from today go silent and for once, my body doesn’t feel like a complete mess. Even the fluttery feeling of the baby goes still.

Nate pushes off the doorframe and pads into the kitchen. He’s heartbreakingly handsome in his low-slung sweatpants and bare feet.

“What’re you doing up?” he asks quietly.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

We’re close enough now, with just the island between us, that when he leans against it, I can smell him. My body wants to reach for him, to sway toward him. I fight it, clutching to the dish towel like it’s a lifeline.

“Sorry if I woke you.”

He shakes his head. “No, I was already up. Too much on my mind.”

His face shutters, as if he’s turning inward. When it’s obvious he isn’t going to say more, I start pulling ingredients from the cabinets. That gets his attention.

“What are you making?”

“Risotto.”

“This late at night?”

With a glance over my shoulder, I give him a raised brow. “You’re the one who said I have free rein of the kitchen.”

That little half smile is back and my heart does a flip.

“True. Alright, how can I help?”

Nathan straightens up and the muscles under his T-shirt ripple with the movement. Seeing him like this—laid-back, dressed down, casually seductive—does something to me. My body throbs with wanting him.

When will that stop?

When I’m out of this house?

When I’m out of the country?

“Youreallywant to attempt this? I can be a hard-ass in the kitchen.”

His green eyes flash brighter now with amusement. “Oh, I’ve heard. Yeah, I’m all-in. What can I do?”

He prowls around the side of the island and my breath catches.

Stop that. It’s not like anything’s going to happen, there’s still that huge chasm between you two.

When he’s inches away from me, our hips brushing, I explain how to prepare risotto with meticulous precision. It’s just a simple dish I’m going for—risotto with butternut squash. The problem is…

“I have to stir forhowlong?”

With an eye roll, I explain, “It’s a touchy dish, Nathan. It needs attention.” Moving around him, I grab the cutting board and garlic. It’s like trying to navigate around a brick wall, he’s so solid and takes up so much space. “And we can take turns.”

As I peel and dice the garlic, Nathan grabs the already cut butternut squash from the fridge. I prepped it earlier today while I was distracted and morose.

“Why risotto?”

I pause in cutting. When our gazes meet, his is curious and open. To respond or not to respond? He’s been shut down for a few days, and I’ve been resenting that.

But I want to be better. I don’t want to hold onto petty grudges. Especially if I’m leaving; I want to leave on good terms.

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