Chapter Twenty-Four
Drew
I hadn’t meant to take over her kitchen.
I told myself it was muscle memory, the bartender in me, the Benedict reflex that can’t stand to watch someone rummage around with the wrong knife or over-salt something that didn’t deserve it, even though I mixed drinks and rarely stepped in the kitchen.
“Step aside, city girl,” I said, rolling my sleeves up past my forearms. “Let me handle dinner. You cooked last time.”
She arched a brow at me over the fridge door, eyes glinting like she was already drafting my eulogy. “You think you can outcook me in my own apartment?”
“I think I’ve got better instincts,” I said, reaching for the fish. “You can keep score if it makes you feel better.”
“You know me well,” she said, setting the butter down on the counter.
“So you do keep score?”
“Only when it counts.” She grinned and handed me the cast-iron skillet. “Perfectly seasoned.”
I looked up at her, smirking. “That sounds suspiciously like how I feel about you.”
She froze, a flush blooming up her neck. “You, what, don’t use your weird country metaphors on me.”
“Too late,” I said, tossing her a wink as I turned the heat on under the pan.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered, but there was a smile tugging at her lips, and that was all I needed to keep pushing my luck.
The sound of sizzling butter filled the small kitchen, soft and alive as I squeezed a bit of lemon, added a few capers and dill while I put the salmon on a sheet and rubbed coarse salt over it.
“I thought you could barely handle chili?” she asked, eyeing my work.
“I like to keep you guessing.”
The air between us hummed the way it always did—too aware, too charged, too impossible to ignore.
“Okay,” she said, leaning against the counter beside me, her arms crossed. “Impress me. What’s the grand plan here, chef?”
I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, then reached for the salt. “Simple. Salt, pepper, lemon. You let the salmon speak for itself.”
“Uh-huh,” she said skeptically. “And does the fish also pay rent?”
“No, but if it tastes good enough, maybe I can.”
That earned me a sharp look that melted into a reluctant laugh. “Smooth. But you’re still washing the dishes.”
“As you wish.”
“Wait.” She studied me. “You like that movie too?”
“How could I not?” I winked at her as her walls started crumbling more and more.
She snickered, shaking her head as wheels kept spinning.
I worked quietly for a few minutes, sliding the salmon skin-side down, the scent of butter and lemon filling the space as I put in to broil. Melanie turned the radio on low.
“You do this a lot?” she asked, watching me open the oven and move the salmon.
“Cook?”
“No,” she said dryly. “Drive halfway across the state for a woman and then commandeer her kitchen like you own the place.”
I smiled without looking up. “Depends on the woman.”
She let out a soft, breathy laugh that made my hands falter just a little.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said again, but it was softer this time. More like she didn’t mean it.
I plated the salmon and handed her a fork. “Taste test.”
She gave me a skeptical look, but the second the bite hit her tongue, her expression changed—her eyes widened, her lips parted, and I swear every neuron in my body woke up just to pay attention.
“Holy—” She took another bite, smaller this time, as if to confirm. “Okay, fine. You win.”
“I always do,” I said lightly, though I was already burning alive just from watching her lick lemon butter off her lip.
“Cocky much?” she teased.
“Confident,” I corrected.
“Same thing.”
“Not when I’m right.”
She rolled her eyes and turned toward the table, but I caught the flush in her cheeks before she hid it. I grabbed the plates and followed her, setting them down at a small table.
She’d already lit a candle, and I couldn’t tell if she’d meant it to be romantic or if she just liked nice lighting.
Either way, it worked.
We ate mostly in silence for the first few minutes, both pretending the air wasn’t electric.
Every time her knee brushed mine under the table, my pulse kicked like a misfired engine.
Every time she smiled, it hit me how easy this felt—even in the middle of her sleek, city apartment, I didn’t feel like the country boy who didn’t belong.
I just felt like me. Like her and me made sense.
When she finally looked up from her plate, her expression was unreadable. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”
I leaned back in my chair, grinning. “That so?”
“Yeah. Reckless River doesn’t exactly scream ‘gourmet.’”
“We have running water now,” I said with mock pride. “Electricity too.”
Her laugh broke loose, genuine and loud and warm enough to melt the last bit of space between us. She leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I think you mean irresistible.”
She poured us wine.
“Don’t push it.”
I did. Of course I did. Because every second with her felt like standing on a frozen lake, just waiting for the crack.
“So,” I said, nodding at her wine glass. “You going to tell me why you keep looking at me like that?”
She froze mid-sip. “Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to figure out how much trouble I’m worth.”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “Maybe I already have.”
“And?”
Her eyes lifted to mine, steady and unblinking. “Maybe you’re the kind of trouble I shouldn’t want.”
I grinned. “But you do.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
Her lips parted just slightly, and that was all the invitation I needed. I leaned across the table, the candle flickering between us. For a heartbeat, she didn’t move.
Finally, she met me halfway, her mouth finding mine with the same mix of defiance and need that defined her every move.
The kiss started slow—soft, testing, the taste of lemon and wine still on her lips. But then something in both of us gave way. The restraint snapped like it had been waiting for the right excuse to fall apart.
Her chair scraped back as she stood, her hands tangling in my shirt. I rose with her, the kiss deepening, turning hungry. She tasted like everything I’d been missing for months—salt and sweetness and the heat of something that wasn’t safe but was absolutely worth the risk.
My hands slid to her waist, then her back, then lower, pulling her closer.
She gasped against my mouth, and that sound nearly did me in.
The table bumped against my hip, the candle flickered, but I didn’t care.
The world could’ve been burning outside, and I’d have still been right there, lost in her.
She broke away just long enough to whisper, breathless, “You’re… supposed to be eating.”
And then she snuffed out the candle, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“I am,” I murmured against her jaw, and she laughed, a low, shaky sound that dissolved into a sigh when I kissed the curve of her neck.
Her fingers fisted in my shirt, tugging me closer. “Drew…”
“Yeah?” I said, my voice rougher than I meant.
“This is…” She trailed off, her eyes darting between mine and my mouth. “We shouldn’t—”
“We already are,” I said, and kissed her again before logic could catch up.
It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t slow. It was months of missed calls and half-truths, and every look we’d traded in Reckless River exploding all at once. Her back hit the counter, and I braced a hand beside her, deepening the kiss until she made a sound that nearly undid me.
When she finally pulled back, her breathing was ragged, her fingers still gripping my shirt like it was the only thing keeping her steady.
“You’re going to ruin me,” she said softly.
I pressed my forehead to hers, still catching my breath. “Pretty sure that’s mutual.”
For a long moment, we just stood there. The city hummed outside the window—horns, sirens, the steady heartbeat of her world. And for once, I didn’t feel out of place in it.
I cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheek.
“You know,” I murmured, “you’re something else when you let your guard down.”
She smiled against my hand, eyes softening. “You’re dangerous when you know it.”
“Good thing I’m not leaving yet,” I said, voice low.
“Is that right?”
“Yeah,” I said, kissing her again, slow this time, almost reverent. “You still owe me dessert.”
She laughed against my mouth, and that sound—half joy, half surrender—was the best damn thing I’d ever heard.
And somewhere between the flicker of the lights and the warmth of her skin, I realized something terrifying and wonderful in equal measure. I wasn’t just falling for her anymore.
I’d already fallen.
Her mouth met mine again, and this time there was no hesitation, no polite testing of boundaries.
Just heat. Just her.
The kiss deepened until the rest of the world blurred out.
My pulse pounded in my ears, and I could feel hers too—quick, fluttering against my palms where I held her face.
She tilted her head, fingers curling into the back of my neck, and I swear that one small touch rewired my entire nervous system.
I pulled her closer, and she came willingly, the sound of her soft gasp caught between us. Her lips parted, warm and sweet, and the taste of her burned straight into my memory.
The edge of the counter pressed into my hip, but I didn’t care. Her hands slid under the hem of my shirt, fingertips tracing the lines of my stomach in light, maddening paths. I groaned, breaking the kiss long enough to say her name, just to hear it in the air.
“Melanie.”
She looked up at me, eyes wide and shining, pupils blown. “What?”
“You’re—” I stopped, shaking my head with a breathless laugh. “You’re trouble.”
She smiled, slow and dangerous. “Takes one to know one.”
She kissed me again, and this one went straight to my knees. She tasted like laughter, like defiance, like every wrong decision that feels too right to resist. Her fingers found their way into my hair, tugging gently, and I lost every coherent thought I’d ever had.
The rhythm between us shifted—hungry, unhurried, then hungry again. I lifted her onto the counter without thinking, her legs wrapping around my hips like it was instinct.
She broke the kiss first, her breath mingling with mine, her forehead resting against mine. “You really drove all this way just to make dinner?”
“Dinner was the excuse,” I said, brushing my thumb across her jaw.
Her smile curved, sly and knowing. “Thought so.”
“Guilty,” I murmured.
Her eyes searched mine, soft but bright, like she was memorizing the way this felt—just in case she ever needed to pretend later.
But there wasn’t room for pretending now.
There was only her hands sliding down my chest, my fingers tracing the small of her back, the slow burn that had been waiting between us for far too long.
I kissed her again, and she sighed into it, melting against me. Her laughter ghosted across my lips, small and breathless and perfect.
“You always do this,” she whispered.
“Do what?”
“Make me forget what I was trying to be careful about.”
“Then don’t be,” I said, and kissed her until the rest of the night decided to wait its turn.