Page 60 of Claim & Don't Tell

“Quinn–”

“It’s okay, Chef.” I smile at him but it’s forced. “I messed up the first egg, but now I know how to do it right.”

He searches my face, eyebrows pinched together.

Just pretend with me. Pretend like this isn’t torture. Pretend like nothing has changed. Please.

Moving to the pan, which he’s still standing next to, I nudge him with my elbow and, this time, he steps away and doesn’t come back. I’m not sure if I’m happy or sad about that. I dump the eggs and he hands me a spatula. “Thanks. So, have you always liked cooking?”

He’s still looking at me like he doesn’t know what to do, but then he pulls himself together, nodding at me. “Uh, yeah. There’s something about preparing a good meal that makes me happy.”

I exhale and move to drop two pieces of toast into the toaster. “What’s a Michelin star breakfast look like?”

“Obnoxious,” he admits.

I scoot the egg around a little before side-eying him. “I thought you loved your job.”

He rubs his chin. “I do, but even I can admit the food is pretentious.”

“Okay, so what do you like to cook?”

“Food that’s more relatable. Something that’ll make a person moan on the first bite.”

I look away at the wordmoanand move the eggs again. They’re almost ready.

“Can I tell you a secret?” His voice is soft, like he’s afraid to say whatever he wants to tell me. My breath catches, but before I can stop him, he says, “I want to do a food truck.”

“Really?” I ask, turning off the stove right as the toaster finishes.

“Yeah.” He laughs and shakes his head. “Me and the guys went to a concert once, and there was this food truck, and I’ll never forget the burger I got. It was a little messy, but fuck, it was good. That was four years ago. I still think about that burger. I want to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Do something that has people fantasizing and dreaming for years.”

Hasn’t he already? But silly me, that’s not what he’s talking about.

“You should do it.” I plate the eggs and butter the toast.

“No one would ever approve of that.”

Just like no one would ever approve of us being together. I have no words of encouragement, because I’m not exactly a wealth of knowledge when it comes to sayingfuck what anyone thinks.

“Will you let me teach you how to cook real food?”

I pause with my fork halfway to my mouth. “Do you have time for that?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

Right. “You don’t have?—”

“I want to, pretty girl. Let me show you how to take care of yourself.”

Stuffing the egg into my mouth, I nod in agreement and try not to die at the thought of spending the rest of my life taking care of myself because I won’t ever have a pack. But this way, we’ll be together. It’s probably not smart. The little incident earlier is proof enough why we shouldn’t.

“Yeah?” Austin’s face lights with excitement and those dimples appear.

And now I can’t deny him.

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