By the time dinner was finished, the air between us had changed. It wasn’t just the easy laughter or the way our hands kept brushing when we moved around the kitchen—it was something deeper and impossible to ignore.
Nick poured us each another glass of wine, the golden liquid catching the soft glow of the overhead lights. He leaned against the counter, watching me with an expression that made my stomach twist.
“You know,” he said, swirling the wine in his glass, “I don’t do this often.”
I raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip from my own glass. “Cook dinner?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Invite people over like this to spend time and talk.” He gestured vaguely between us, as if that explained everything he wasn’t saying out loud.
I set my glass down, letting his words settle in the
