11. Chapter 11 #2
She inhaled deeply. Tried to push the exhaustion down.
“I’ll look at the paperwork tonight,” she said finally.
“Good.” Laurie didn’t sound convinced, but she sounded satisfied. “Sign it and get it back to me. And Maddie? Be careful.”
Maddie ended the call, tossing her phone onto the passenger seat.
Then she exhaled, staring at the empty house in front of her.
Shadowy. Quiet. Unsettling.
She pushed open the car door and stepped out, walking toward it, wishing she wasn’t a grown woman scared of a dark house.
The second Maddie stepped inside, she smelled it.
Something warm, rich, savory. Garlic, butter, something creamy with a hint of tomato.
Her stomach roared to life.
She froze in the doorway, exhaustion making her question if she was actually hallucinating.
Because there was no way—no actual way—that her dark, empty, unsettling house smelled like a damn five-star kitchen.
She dropped her bag by the door, heart hammering, feet moving before her brain could catch up.
She strode into the kitchen—and nearly lost her footing.
There, leaning casually against the counter, stirring a large pot with one hand while scrolling on his phone with the other, was Heath.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like he hadn’t just broken into her house and taken over her kitchen.
Maddie blinked. “What the—?”
He glanced up, completely unfazed. “Took you long enough.”
She stared. “You—what? What are you—?” She gestured vaguely at the food, at him, at everything.
Heath arched a brow, setting his phone down. “You look like hell, Speedy.”
Maddie’s jaw tightened.
Her hair was a wreck, her shorts and hoodie were crumpled and sweaty from being in a hospital locker for forty-eight hours straight. She had dry lips and dark circles under her eyes.
Yeah. She was aware.
“You—” she huffed, raking a hand through her hair. “You’re making me dinner?”
“Making? No. Made.” He turned back to the pot, giving it one final stir before grabbing a plate and dishing out a steaming heap of creamy pasta. “Sit.”
“I—”
He slid the plate across the island toward her.
Penne, chicken, cherry tomatoes that had blistered perfectly, spinach wilted into the sauce, the whole thing coated in something creamy and garlicky.
Her stomach growled so loudly it echoed.
Heath smirked. “Thought so.”
Maddie hesitated, arms crossing over her chest.
“Why?” she asked finally.
Heath grabbed a second plate, shrugging as he popped open a bottle of white wine like it wasn’t a big deal. “Figured I should keep you alive long enough to pay my bill.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That’s not an answer.”
He poured her a glass.
Then he poured water, too.
Sliding both toward her, he leaned on the counter. “One glass tonight. That’s it. I’m leaving you alone after this.”
Maddie huffed, pulling out a barstool and sinking into it. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Can’t have you taking advantage of me again.” He just smirked, twirling his fork into his own plate.
“Am I that threatening?” Maddie picked up hers, pausing only for a second before taking a bite. The first taste was sinfully good.
“Heath.” She closed her eyes, groaning. “Oh my god.”
“Who is being dramatic?”
“You know, I can cook, too—when I have time.” She opened one eye, glaring.
“Can you?” His tone was so dry she nearly threw a piece of penne at his face.
Instead, she took another bite.
Then another.
Then she stood, walking toward the fridge to grab lemon juice for her water—and froze.
The fridge was full.
No, not full. Stocked.
Milk, eggs, fresh vegetables, proteins wrapped from the butcher, yogurt, bread, condiments—even small things like coffee creamer and cheese sticks and perfectly ripe avocados.
Her stomach twisted.
Slowly, she turned. “You—”
Heath didn’t even look up. “It was all very expensive.”
Maddie stared at him, heart pounding. “Why did you stock my fridge?”
He finally met her gaze, calm as ever.
And then—the most casual goddamn response in the world:
“Don’t worry. I’m charging you for it.”
She nearly punched him.
He grinned and then kicked back the rest of his wine. “None of this is charity, Doc.”
That was about the moment that Maddie should have gone straight upstairs. She should have grabbed her plate, mumbled a thank you, and disappeared into the shower before she lost her damn mind.
She was running on what—a pittance of broken sleep since Friday? Her body was beyond exhausted, her brain fried, her emotions stretched too thin.
And yet—
Here she was, staring at Heath like he was the problem, when the real problem was the way she wanted to breathe this moment in.
The way she wanted to sit here for just a little longer, watching him smirk over his wine like he hadn’t just infiltrated her house, her kitchen, her goddamn life.
She set down her fork. Too hard. “You can’t keep doing this.”
His expression didn’t change. “Doing what?”
She gestured wildly at the fridge, the food, the perfectly renovated master bedroom that she hadn’t even had the energy to see yet. “This. Fixing things.”
Fixing me.
He didn’t say anything, just studied her.
She didn’t stop. “You don’t even realize you’re doing it, do you?”
Heath’s calm, infuriating, unreadable expression didn’t waver.