We had decided to keep it to weekends only, that I would stay over. Clear boundaries, clean lines. Simple.
Except nothing about Adrian Cole was simple.
I leaned against the doorway of his apartment, my bag at my feet, watching as he rummaged through his kitchen drawer.
“You really don’t own a can opener?” I asked, one brow raised.
He glanced over his shoulder, sheepish. “I’m a surgeon, not a chef.”
“That’s exactly what terrifies me.”
Adrian laughed, finally extracting the elusive tool. “There. Crisis averted.”
“Until you try to make chili with no spices again.”
“I had paprika,” he argued.
“That was cinnamon, Adrian.”
He paused. “Okay, that explains a lot.”
I shook my head, amused, then walked toward the counter, tracing my fingers along the marble surface.
“So,” he said, quiete
