15. Sutton

15

SUTTON

My toes peeked out of the bubbles, the dusky mauve polish I’d painted on them the other day standing out against the white ceramic. I could just make out the soft strains of Luca playing a video game across the hall, but it was the kind of noise that faded into a meditative background, assuring me that my son was safe and happy.

I, on the other hand, was a prune. A happy one. I’d added hot water to the bath twice, soaking up every ounce of heat. I wasn’t sure what the bubble bath was made of since the label was in French, but it smelled heavenly.

I knew I shouldn’t get used to any of this, but that didn’t mean I would stop myself from enjoying it. I let my eyes fall closed for a moment, taking it all in. Maybe if I cemented the memory, it would be enough to sustain me when we had to leave.

After a few more moments of warmth, I forced myself to pull the plug. It would be rude to stay in the bath all night, and I could see the sun sinking lower into the horizon, painting Cope’s property in a cascade of pinky reds. An artist could paint this landscape a hundred times over and still not capture it all.

Maybe Arden did , I thought as I stood from the bath and grabbed a fluffy white towel from a perfectly folded stack. I knew Arden often worked with metal as her medium, but I had to imagine the landscape inspired her regardless.

Quickly drying off, I wrapped the towel around my body and poked my head into the bedroom. The door was closed now, and my three duffel bags sat on the bench at the end of the massive bed. I pulled out a pair of sweats and a matching top covered in abstract bumblebees. I probably should’ve gone for something more appropriate—jeans and a T-shirt, maybe—but after the day’s events, I couldn’t force myself into hard pants.

I pulled on the soft, fleecy cotton and refixed the bun on top of my head. Grabbing my slippers from another bag, I slid my feet into the worn shoes and headed across the hall.

Luca’s fingers flew over a controller, his eyes locked on the screen.

“I’m heading downstairs. Cope is making us dinner,” I told him.

“Mm-hmm,” he said with a nod.

“Think you could come with me so you don’t starve to death by video game addiction?” I pressed.

The corners of his mouth pulled up into a grin. “Just let me finish this level, and I’ll pause it.”

“Promise?”

“Swear,” Luca vowed.

His swear meant he’d try for three more levels but would eventually make it downstairs. I’d take it.

“All right. Yell if you get lost. This place is huge.”

“This place is awesome ,” Luca corrected.

A weight settled in my belly. I wanted to be the one to give my kid all these amazing things. A house he could be proud of. The room of his dreams. Space to run and play.

One day.

One day, I’d give us all that and more. But for now, I’d have to settle for one foot in front of the other. I made my way down the hallway to the stairs, taking in every detail as I descended them. The house was a mix of old and new. Rustic, aged beams and modern metals. Black-and-white photos mixed with textured paintings that brought in pops of color. But everything about it was beautiful.

Strains of soft, bluesy music wafted toward me, along with the scent of garlic. My stomach rumbled as I followed the call of both. When I reached the kitchen, I stopped dead.

It should’ve been the gourmet cooking space that had me frozen to the spot, but it wasn’t. It was the man dominating it. He stood at the stove, focused on a saucepan. His hair looked as if it was still damp from a shower, making the strands appear a few shades darker than their normal light brown.

Cope had changed into gray sweats that hung low on his hips and a worn T-shirt with some sports team emblem. The cotton looked the kind of soft that only came from washing it too many times to count. As the music ebbed and flowed in the background, Cope tapped a foot in time. A bare foot.

There was something about that, his toes peeking out from beneath baggy sweats. The movement. It felt like a sight I didn’t have any right to see.

I forced my gaze up to Cope’s face as if that would help. Not a chance when his devastating beauty was a sucker punch that stole all the air from my lungs. My eyes couldn’t help but narrow in on the scar bisecting his lip—one so similar to mine.

Clearing my throat, I forced myself past the threshold. “When you said you were full of surprises, you weren’t kidding.”

Cope didn’t look up right away. He stirred whatever was in the pan before taking it off the heat. “I don’t mess around when eating’s involved.” Once he’d set the pan on a cool burner, he turned, leaning a hip against the counter. The scar deepened as one corner of his mouth kicked up. “I like the PJs.”

My cheeks heated, but I lifted my chin. “They are very serious sweats, I’ll have you know.”

“Fucking cute,” he muttered .

The words landed somewhere deep in my chest, making a home there. “I like bees.”

He arched a brow at that. “The kind that sting you?”

“The kind that make honey. They only sting when you go on the offensive. If you let them be, they’ll give you the sweetest gifts.”

Cope stared at me for a long moment as if reading too much truth beneath my words.

“Plus, I couldn’t bear to put on real clothes after that bath,” I added, trying to shift his knowing stare.

It worked, and Cope’s devastating smile stretched across his face again. “How was it?”

I moved in closer, playing with fire. “Heaven. But you should know that, given it took me two hours to get down here.”

Cope chuckled, the sound teasing my skin and causing a pleasant shiver. “How’s Luca?” he asked.

God, I loved that, too—his care when it came to my kid. I never would’ve thought standing in a kitchen would be reckless, but with Cope, it was danger personified.

“He’s currently playing some video game with dragons and archers, at least from what I could tell.”

“One of Kye’s favorites,” Cope said with a smirk. “Those two probably have a similar maturity level.”

A laugh bubbled out of me. “I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

“He’ll know it’s the cold, hard truth,” Cope shot back.

We were both quiet for a moment, the music swirling around us.

“So, what smells so amazing?” I asked, needing to cut the tension in the air and have something other than Cope to focus on.

“Pasta pomodoro. I wasn’t sure if there were things you and Luca don’t eat, so I thought this was safest. I’ve got a salad and some garlic bread ready to go, too.”

I inhaled the scents of tomatoes and garlic and couldn’t help the sigh that left my lips. “Italian is my favorite.”

When my eyes opened, it was to find Cope’s blue gaze locked on me. “Happy coincidence. Because it’s my favorite cuisine to cook. ”

My heart picked up its pace, skipping, jumping, and diving into a roll. “When did this love of cooking arise?”

Something passed over his dark-blue depths, some shadowy emotion I couldn’t quite pin down. Cope shifted in place, turning back to the stove as if to check something. “After my dad died, it felt like the one thing I could do to help. I discovered I had a knack for it.”

An ache rooted itself in my chest. I didn’t know what it meant to lose a parent. Not really. My father had never been in my life, and my mom dropped me on my grandmother’s doorstep when I was three. It took me a while to realize what a kindness that had been.

My mom wasn’t cut out for consistent care and nurturing. She was too busy chasing one adventure after another. But my grandmother had given me more love than I could’ve ever hoped for. And I knew what losing her had cost me.

I searched Cope’s face, wanting to know more but not wanting to cause him pain. “Car accident, right?”

Cope’s knuckles bleached white as he gripped the pan’s handle. “Yeah,” he rasped.

It had been the wrong thing to ask, and guilt swept through me fast and hard. “What’s your favorite dish to make?” I asked, trying to change the subject as quickly as possible.

His grip loosened. “I make a mean pork ragu over polenta.”

My eyes flared at that knowledge. “You don’t mess around.”

One corner of Cope’s mouth kicked up. “I don’t have time to do it all that much. That’s what makes the off-season nice.”

“I volunteer as taste-test tribute because I’m hopeless when it comes to cooking.”

Cope stared at me for a long moment. “Sutton, your baked goods are some of the best things I’ve ever tasted.”

“I’m good at baking ,” I corrected him. “That is like night and day from cooking. Figuring out the right measurements and flavors in baking just makes sense to me. Cooking? I’m all thumbs.”

Cope shifted closer—so close we were almost touching. Close enough that I could just catch flickers of mint and sage. “Sounds like we make a pretty good team,” he rasped. “Dinner and dessert. Salty and sweet.”

Oh, hell.

Suddenly, I couldn’t stop the images that rose of Cope licking chocolate frosting off the column of my neck and then dipping lower. His heat swirled around me as his eyes dropped to my mouth. My lips parted, and my breath hitched.

“Mom! I’m starving !” Luca yelled from the staircase.

I startled, moving backward and pressing a hand to my chest over my hammering heart as if that could get my heart rate to slow. But Cope didn’t look fazed in the slightest; he simply glanced over my shoulder and called, “Come and get it, Speedy.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My first night here, and I’d already almost kissed Cope in his damn kitchen. Who knew where that would’ve ended? I needed to get a grip on my hormones and find some self-control. But as Luca came running into the kitchen, and Cope sent him the most devastating smile—one that had my ovaries crying out to make mini Copes here and now—I knew one thing.

I was so totally screwed.