30
“Mi amor, that dish isn’t going to finish itself.”
Gia startled, wondering how long she had been sitting at the kitchen table.
The morning light filtered through the yellow curtains she had chosen because they made the room warm and cozy.
Marco, her mate, stood over the frying pan. “You’re the one who made the wager. Are you crying uncle already?”
“Uncle?” She scowled, wondering why the hell that word bothered her so much.
Marco’s handsome face creased. “What’s wrong?” he asked, setting the frying pan on the brick he’d carved runes on. It was the last one he’d baked in the kiln in the backyard. The rest were in the walls of this house, the home he’d built for them.
“You were always doing things like that,” she whispered, holding her temple. “Sentimental touches that made everythi
