Chapter 8 #3
Immediately, I shielded my eyes. There was no way I could see him in this state and keep my composure. When I say he was wearing sweats, he wore those pants and if I wasn’t intent on disliking him, I may have told him so.
“Can you put some clothes on, it’s not even 8:00am,” I said, more out of fear of my own bodily responses if he didn’t.
He laughed and it was thick with drowsiness, rasping softly as though it were borrowed from a dream.
“Of all people, my fiancée should be into it…” he arched a brow, letting his joke linger in the otherwise still morning air.
“I hate wearing a shirt, so you’re going to have to get used to it.
” He shrugged, his clearly defined traps rising and falling as though they too were mocking me.
“You look as though you’re wearing your pyjamas anyway, so what’s the big deal? ”
“I’m dressed for comfort, not approval,” I called, opening the door of my car and grabbing one of the boxes out. “The rest were packed,” I mumbled as if that explained my homeless appearance.
“Just joking, Evy. You could wear a sack, and you’d still look good,” he said, as if he hadn’t just answered every single one of my teenage prayers. I laughed, a little maniacally, his compliment making me nervous and he grinned knowingly.
For fox sake. I wasn’t as prepared as I thought.
“Let me help.” He came to grab the other two boxes. “Then I can take you on a tour.”
“I never knew you lived in paradise.” I looked at the forest of trees lining the driveway.
“I told you it’s different in person. I always wanted open skies and endless green.
But wild, not manicured,” he clarified, and I didn’t miss the edge to his tone.
There was no doubt he was referring to the monstrosity of a mansion he grew up in with his immaculate lawns and opulent castle-esque feel.
This was far quainter, the house hugged by the surroundings, rather than pushing them aside.
“I need to see the kitchen,” I sighed, already knowing it was going to be everything I could have imagined.
“Come on, let’s put these in your room then.
” He took the box from my hands, placing it on top of the other two, effortlessly lifting all three and I tried not to look at the way his back muscles pulled.
The gold and black elastic of his briefs contrasted deliciously against the colour of his toned skin.
Something else you shouldn’t be noticing, I reminded myself.
I also definitely hadn’t noticed the lining of hair which moved down his stomach, disappearing beneath his waistband, or the way his face was lined with stubble which hadn’t been there the last time I saw him. All of those were not things I internally photographed or would look at again.
Definitely not.
Sheesh.
Stepping into the house, I gasped, unexpectedly impressed by the sheer beauty.
The floorboards were glossed to perfection, the earthy feels of the woodgrain blending seamlessly with the surroundings.
A smaller living area greeted me, a quiet space with a lounge, a television and an eclectic line of various bottles filled with amber liquid.
A long hallway stretched ahead, lined with doors on either side.
Coop gestured as we passed, explaining they were a junk room, the bathroom, and a spare room.
Then he paused at the last door and motioned for me to go first into what he said was my room.
While the house itself wasn’t too big, this room was huge, with an adjoining ensuite and enough room to do cartwheels - if I wanted.
Which I obviously didn’t, but the space was there.
Spinning, I took a deep breath and smiled. It smelt like him - something else I was desperate not to notice.
“Wait. Is this the master bedroom?” I asked, turning away before my gaze lingered on the way his pants pulled taut across a firm looking backside as he lowered the boxes onto the floor.
“Yep,” he replied, a smile ghosting his face.
“What? Why? Isn’t this your room? Where will you sleep?
Why would you give me your room?” I shot out in rapid succession, taking a large breath and instantly regretting it when the smell of leather and spice encased my lungs.
If anything, the scent of Cooper Dane had only intensified as he got older and now, it was my kryptonite.
I was going to need to invest in some nose plugs at this rate.
He leant casually against the wall like a damn model, the picture of calm with his arms folded across his still very much bare chest, one foot crossed over the other, exuding effortless self-assuredness.
The knowing smile he was sending me sent a soft flutter through my stomach and I suppressed a groan.
Visibly crossing myself, I called on all the Hail Marys I could to give me the strength to resist lunging at him.
For frick sake. Leave some room for the rest of us regular folk.
“I spend most of my time at the distillery. Plus, if my parents stop by you need to have your things in here.” The confidence in his demeanour told me he knew the effect he had on people and the mild arrogance only made him sexier.
“Is that something they do often?” I asked, suddenly panicking at the idea of them arriving when I was here on my own. I didn’t have a great deal of memories of them but from those few I could recall, they were not the kind of people I would voluntarily spend time with.
“Not generally, no. But they have invited themselves over for a beverage in a couple of weeks,” he sighed heavily through his nose.
“A beverage?”
“Their pomposity knows no bounds. But it’s better than a meal, trust me. A meal means an unlimited amount of time. A beverage means my old man will have anything other than scotch and Ma will want a wine – which she will bring herself.”
“What do you mean?” I pressed.
“You’re going to have to be more specific with which part you want clarified,” he said with a laugh, before yanking me by the hand and leading me further into the house. I didn’t immediately remove my hand from his grasp, enjoying the way he linked our fingers as if it were an entirely normal move.
“So will we need to act like a coup-” My question was extinguished when we entered the most beautiful kitchen I’d ever stepped foot inside.
“Eeeeeek.” I clapped with renewed excitement. This was more than I ever could have hoped. “It’s incredible.” With the ideal amount of bench space, it was the perfect size and most importantly the oven was huge, meaning it was a home bakers heaven.
“I assume that means the kitchen meets your expectations?”
“Yes!” I squeaked. “It’s perfect. And I can definitely fake marry you if it means I can use it.” I stepped back and looked out over the deck and into a verdant canopy of towering trees. “While looking at this,” a gentle exhale of pure admiration escaped my lips as I took in the view.
“Yes,” I confirmed, my tone now more professional. “I accept the proposal.” Spinning towards an amused Cooper, I held out my hand. When he again took my hand in his, I ignored the warmth and shook his hand vigorously.
“You are officially my husband to be, my roommate and my boss and I’m going to bake us something to celebrate.”
The mischievous curve of his lips, half-teasing, half sinful, made my stomach flutter, although that was nothing compared to the words which left his mouth next.
“Use anything you want or need from the pantry or fridge. Mi casa es su casa,” he said in a shocking attempt at a Spanish accent, and I laughed.
“Jeez, anything? That’s basically foreplay,” I warned, and he shot me a grin which settled deep in my chest.
“Noted.” His glance was loaded with mischief, and I grabbed the bench to steady myself.
“This arrangement does not include whatever you’re thinking, Mr. Dane, so you can stop that look right now. I’m not one of your random women.” His laugh was unexpected, playful.
“Have you been keeping tabs on me?” He replied, and I felt my cheeks heat.
“Pffft,” I aimed for unaffected. “As if. Now do you prefer mint or lemon?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.
“Mint,” he replied, studying me intently.
Refusing to look at him, I opened a few cupboards until I located the bowls. “Good choice,” I stated thoughts of chocolate, mint and biscuit forming in my mind.
“Thanks for helping me out, Evy, I really appreciate you,” the sincerity in his tone coupled with the name only he used, sent those earlier flutters into a storm and I bit my lip nervously, pausing to look at him.
“You’re welcome,” I answered genuinely. As much as I hated to admit it, I would have helped him without the payment or job offer - because it was him.
“Thanks for taking me on, giving me a place to stay and organising movers. Works well for the both of us,” I admitted, knowing if he made a habit of being shirtless, this deal was weighted heavily in my favour.
He studied me for what felt like a second too long, before stating he was off to shower and I took that as my cue to put my headphones back on, throw my hair up and take another look around before I began baking up a storm in the kitchen of my dreams.
A girl could get used to this.
Hours later Coop returned from doing whatever it was he did when he wasn’t working and reached for the plate of bite-size chocolate mint slices.
“I’ve been thinking about these since I smelt them hours ago.” He handed me a drink from the fridge before joining me at the table where I was watching some new craft hacks.
“Are they as good as Judy’s?” He asked, nudging me.
“Since when has Mum made these?” I asked curiously, seizing one for myself.
“Since forever. Makes them every year on my birthday,” he replied, with a peaceful happiness.
I paused, studying him before realisation dawned. He had no idea.
“Which ones are better then?” I asked, thinking back to every single time I’d made them.
The same slices I’d made for fifteen years on February 5th, because the next day was his birthday, and I never wanted him to go a year without someone making him some form of sweet treat.
I never left a note, assuming he would know it was me, and even when he didn’t send a thank you, and I vowed to be done with Cooper Dane and making sure he had someone, the following year I would be back in the kitchen at it again.
What I didn’t realise was he thought they were from Mum.
She was a brilliant baker too so it really was no surprise, but part of me had hoped he would know.
Realise how I never would have let him go a year without someone in his corner.
How my heart called for him even if I only allowed this for one day each year.
“Oh, these are better. Please don’t tell Judy,” he said with an appreciative moan, reaching over to seize my wrist and take a bite out of the one I was holding. “But it could also be because I can taste the love in these.”
I grabbed another, offering him a withering look, “Oh, don’t consider yourself special, fake fiancé, I always bake with love,” I teased, trying not to stare at the way his tongue darted out to lick the edge of cream off his thumb or how he followed with that grin dancing across his face, bringing a boyish brightness to those eyes.