Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Sawyer
By the time I get home from work, the apartment smells like garlic, and something slightly burned, which immediately puts me on alert.
Kayla is standing at the stove when I walk into the kitchen. She’s wearing silky shorts and one of those oversize sweaters that looks like it belongs to someone else. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy knot.
She doesn’t notice me at first. She’s too busy poking at something in the pan, like she’s negotiating with it.
“Is the kitchen on fire?” I ask.
She jumps slightly. “Jeez, Sawyer.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She turns toward me and gestures at the stove. “I attempted dinner.”
“Attempted?”
“Cooking is a learning experience.”
I glance at the pan. “The garlic definitely lost this fight.”
She narrows her eyes. “You cook breakfast a couple of times, and suddenly, you’re Gordon Ramsay.”
“I didn’t burn eggs.”
“Low blow.”
Kayla turns the stove off and slides the pan to the side. “Relax. I already ordered takeout when I saw it going south.” She motions to the food on the counter, “This food is officially not salvageable.”
“Strong recovery.”
She grabs two plates from the cabinet, then pauses when she notices I’m watching her. “You keep doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like you’re solving a problem.”
“I’m observing.”
“That’s the same creepy excuse you used last time.”
“I stand by it.”
She hands me a plate. “Hold this.”
I take it as she reaches across the counter to grab the bag of takeout sitting near the edge. Her sweater sleeve slips down her arm slightly as she does.
The movement is small, but for some reason, my attention locks on to it immediately because my attention catches on the movement immediately and refuses to let go.
Kayla glances up, catching me looking. She smiles slightly. “You’re doing it again.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She sets the food on the island and starts opening containers. “You get this look when you’re overanalyzing something.”
“What look?”
“The intimidating billionaire stare.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It definitely is.”
She slides a container of pasta toward me, then sits on the stool next to mine.
For a few minutes, we eat quietly. It should be normal, except something about the silence feels different tonight.
Less awkward and far more intentional.
Kayla twirls pasta around her fork. “So …” she says slowly.
“So …”
“You’ve been weirdly composed today.”
“I’m always composed.”
“That’s not true.”
“What are you talking about?”
She points her fork at me. “You get this look when something annoys you.”
“That sounds made up.”
“It’s not.”
“What does it look like?”
She studies me thoughtfully, then leans forward slightly. “Like you’re trying very hard not to give yourself away.”
“To what?”
She shrugs. “To me.”
I set my fork down. “That’s a bold assumption.”
Kayla smiles again, and something about the expression tells me she’s enjoying this entirely too much.
“You’re not nearly as unreadable as you think you are.”
“That sounds optimistic.”
She tilts her head. “You watched me cook dinner like you were studying a science experiment.”
“You were burning garlic.”
“That’s not the point.”
I lean back in the chair. “Then what is the point?”
Kayla taps her fork lightly against the plate.“You pay attention to me.”
“That’s called proximity.”
“That’s called denial.”
“That’s a very confident statement.”
She shrugs. “You keep asking questions.”
“That’s called conversation.”
“No,” she says. “That’s called interest.”
Neither of us says anything. Something about the word hangs in the air between us. Then Kayla leans back in her chair and takes another bite of pasta like she didn’t just drop something slightly dangerous into the conversation.
And the irritating part is … I’m starting to think she knows exactly what she’s doing.
Kayla appears calm, like she didn’t just accuse me of being interested in her.
“That’s not accurate,” I reply.
“You watch me,” she continues with a smile on her face.
“I possess functional vision.”
She slowly smiles again. “That sounded personal.”
My voice drops. “I’m correct.”
She twirls the last bite of pasta around her fork and eats it. She sets the fork down.
“You know what I think?” she says.
I already don’t like the direction this conversation is heading.
“What?”
“I think you’re used to people being intimidated by you.”
“That’s because they usually are.”
“Right.”
She tilts her head slightly. “But I’m not.”
I lean forward. “I noticed.”
“And that bothers you.”
“It doesn’t bother me.”
“It fascinates you.”
I stare at her because the irritating part is that she says it so matter-of-factly.
“You think you have me figured out,” I say.
“I think you’re predictable.”
That earns her a quiet laugh.
“Predictable?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Kayla gestures between us. “You do that thing where you step closer, like you’re going to intimidate someone.”
“That usually works.”
“But you won’t actually do anything.”
Something in my chest tightens slightly. That sounds suspiciously like a challenge.
“You’re very sure about that,” I say.
“I’m observant.”
I push my chair back and stand. Kayla watches me, still completely relaxed. Still completely sure of herself. Until I close the distance between us with one step.
She straightens subtly but doesn’t retreat.
“You’re doing it again,” she says.
“Doing what?”
“The intimidating thing.”
I lean forward. “You said it doesn’t work on you.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Then why are you watching me like that?”
Her mouth opens slightly before she closes it again.
Interesting.
I place a hand in front of her on the island. We’re close enough that I can see the small shift in her breathing. Close enough that she has to tilt her head slightly to keep eye contact.
“You enjoy provoking me,” I say quietly.
“Maybe.”
“You think it’s funny.”
“Sometimes.”
“You think I won’t react.”
She hesitates. That hesitation is the first crack in her grit I’ve seen all night.
“So, what happens if you do?” she asks.
My voice drops a little. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On how brave you actually are.”
For the first time since this conversation started, Kayla looks unsure. Her gaze flicks down briefly.
I realize something in that moment. She expected teasing.
Not this. Not me pushing back.
Her fingers tighten slightly around the edge of the island.
“You’re very close right now,” she says.
“You mentioned that before.”
“That wasn’t an invitation.”
I shift more of my weight to my hand on the counter, so we’re inches apart.
“Are you nervous?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m thinking.”
“About leaving?”
Kayla laughs softly, but there’s something different about it now.
“You’re taking too much pleasure in this.”
“Possibly.”
The space between us feels charged, like the room is holding its breath.
Then Kayla suddenly stands, which puts her much closer than either of us expected.
She looks up at me. For half a second, I think she might actually hold her ground.
Instead, she steps back.
“Well,” she says lightly, “that escalated.”
I straighten. “You started it.”
“That’s true.”
She walks toward the hallway but pauses when she reaches the doorway.
Then she looks back at me.
“You know what the funny part is?” she says.
“What?”
“You almost had me convinced.”
“Of what?”
“That you’re dangerous.”
Her smile returns. That self-assured one again. She disappears down the hallway, and her bedroom door closes a second later.
I’m left standing in the kitchen with one very irritating realization.
Kayla walked away smiling.
Which probably means I lost that round.