Chapter 8 Nia #2
Nia rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her own amusement. She scratched Jade’s soft fur and muttered in a conspiratorial tone, “Well, you ruined my first plan. You were supposed to scare me away with the girlfriend act.”
Jade wagged her tail furiously, eyes glinting with canine delight as if she understood every word.
“Come on, girls,” Lochlan said over his shoulder, heading deeper into the house. “I’ll give you a tour and then get dinner started.”
Nia followed him upstairs, Jade padding alongside them.
Lochlan carried her suitcase to the master bedroom, pushing the door open to reveal a simple but comfortable space.
The bed was large and neatly made, the walls painted in soft, neutral tones.
He set her bag on the bed and gestured to the door on the left.
“The bathroom’s through there.”
She nodded, her gaze lingering on the plants scattered around the room. She didn’t have to touch them to feel their presence: a quiet hum of magic connected her to the vines trailing along the windowsill and the leafy ferns tucked into corners.
They moved down the hallway, Lochlan gesturing briefly to a closed door as they passed. “This is the office. I do most of my work in there.”
He didn’t elaborate and Nia didn’t ask.
The stairs creaked softly as they descended, the air carrying the faint scent of old wood and something green and alive.
The kitchen sat at the back of the house, mostly lit by soft lamps that cast a warm glow over the space.
Faint music played in the background. Off to one side, a door led to the greenhouse—or so Lochlan had said—and beyond that was the backyard, though she couldn’t see either from the kitchen counter.
Nia soaked in the coziness of Lochlan’s home, which felt lived in and cared for. Not like her apartment, which was less a home and more a place where she occasionally dropped dead from exhaustion.
She glanced at Lochlan, who was rummaging through the fridge, pulling out ingredients with an almost surgical precision. She didn’t realize she was staring until he turned, catching her mid-assessment. She looked away, hoping the dim light covered any telltale signs of appreciation.
“There’s this chicken and pasta dish I was thinking about making,” he said, setting a carton of cream onto the counter. “It’ll be another hour, if that’s okay?”
“I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in…” she trailed off, searching her memory. It was bleak.
“What do you usually eat?”
He was watching her too closely, like he was absorbing every word. It made her nervous.
“Takeout,” she admitted. “I’m not the best cook, and Ivy—my best friend—and I, well, we set our kitchen on fire in college. Since then…” She shrugged.
Lochlan made a thoughtful noise, then turned back to his task. “Is chicken and pasta okay?”
“Yes. I can always eat pasta, and I don’t mind chicken.”
He hesitated. “Is there a meat you prefer?”
“No. Chicken is fine, Lochlan.”
He exhaled like she’d just settled some great internal debate. “Alright.”
Nia pulled out her notepad and worked while Lochlan gathered his supplies and turned up the music before moving in practiced efficiency. He worked quietly, the occasional sound of a knife against the cutting board or the sizzle of butter in a pan the only interruptions.
Nia tried to focus on her fundraiser notes, but when Lochlan bent down to grab something from the fridge, she lost her train of thought.
Her gaze flicked up on instinct, her eyes tracing over the way his shirt pulled against his back, the way his pants clung a little too well.
She forced her gaze back to her notes, but they couldn’t hold her attention.
Lochlan started chopping, and she became fixated on his hands. Competent, precise, strong in a way that felt unfairly distracting.
This was going to be a problem.
She swallowed and refocused on her notes. Pancakes. She was here to plan a pancake fundraiser, not ogle the way a man handled poultry.
Jade padded over to the corner, where Lochlan filled an ornate gold bowl with kibble. The dog wagged her tail enthusiastically before digging in.
It was so normal. Too normal.
A glass of water appeared in front of Nia, sliding across the counter slowly. She blinked up at Lochlan. He didn’t say anything, just watched her with an unreadable expression, waiting.
“Thanks,” she murmured, wrapping her fingers around the cool glass.
“Would you like anything else? I have wine, sodas…”
He trailed off and she glanced up, catching something flicker across his face.
Their eyes locked and the air between them shifted, thickened.
For a moment, the kitchen quieted around them, the smallest sounds amplified—the faint clink of Nia’s glass as she set it down, the slow drag of his breath, the creak of her stool as she adjusted her posture.
“No,” she said finally, realizing he was waiting for her answer. “Water is fine.”
She looked away, heart hammering, fingers tightening around the glass. She should have said wine. Maybe vodka. Something to dull or drown out the awareness creeping under her skin.
Jade chose that moment to shove her nose against Lochlan’s leg. A slow, easy smile spread across his face as he knelt to scratch behind her ears.
Nia exhaled quietly, but her pulse refused to settle. That smile took his sharp, brooding features and softened them into something dangerously attractive.
Fantastic. Apparently, she had a thing for dog dads.
She chugged her water like it was an antidote.
Meanwhile, Lochlan moved through his cooking with infuriating grace. The scent of garlic and butter filled the air, followed by the richness of sun-dried tomatoes and heavy cream.
Nia fidgeted. It smelled too good. He looked too good.
Then he bent down to check something in the oven, and—no man should be that attractive while cooking. It was like some kind of mating ritual, a dangerous combination of skill and seduction, a strip tease disguised as dinner preparation.
He plated everything with the same casual confidence he’d shown with everything else in the kitchen, slicing her chicken before setting it in front of her.
“We can eat here at the counter,” he said, nodding toward the stools. “I hardly ever use the dining room.”
Nia swallowed, nodding.
And if she stared at his hands a little too long as he passed her a fork, well. That was between her and the goddess.