Jenna tapped her spoon against the pot, steam curling up as the scent of rosemary and garlic filled the kitchen.
Mrs. Anderson peers over her shoulder, her brow raised. “Since when do you cook?”
Jenna grinned, stirring the sauce carefully. “Since I wanted to say thank you.”
“hmmm….” the old lady said, clearly unconvinced. “Thank him with words. You don’t have to do this.”
“He saved my life, Mrs. Anderson. Twice. He stayed with me when I was unconscious.” Jenna defended. “He’s not that cruel after all.”
Her fingers tighten on the spoon, remembering the way Ryker’s arms had held her, how his voice had softened as he whispered her name. How safe she’d felt—even after everything.
No, this isn’t just a thank-you. She was hopeful. “Maybe he really does love me.” Jenna thought to herself.
