Chapter 19

ALL THE PINING

19

My stomach grumbles, reminding me of the fact that it's almost lunchtime and I've only had coffee for breakfast. Killian glances at me with a smirk.

"Sounds like someone's hungry," he teases. "Why don't we make some lunch?"

"Sorry." I snort. "I'm no chef in this world. Unless you're in the mood for burned toast."

"Ah, but lucky for you, I'm a pro in the kitchen," Killian replies with a wink.

"Is there anything you can't do?" I ask skeptically, my eyes narrowing playfully.

"I'm sure there must be. But cooking is not part of that list." He feigns innocence, placing a hand over his heart. "But trust me, your taste buds are in very capable hands."

I don't know what else his hands are very capable of. I have my suspicions.

"Mi kitchen es tu kitchen." I gesture toward the tiny stove.

Killian steps behind the counter and rummages through the cabinets, his brow furrowing as he realizes my pantry is woefully understocked. He turns to me with a raised eyebrow.

"Sugar Spoon, what on earth do you usually eat?"

"Um, well." I blush, embarrassed. "Lately, it's been mostly instant ramen or white rice."

"Ramen and rice?" Killian shakes his head. "That won't do. We need to expand your culinary horizons."

With determination etched on his face, Killian scours the cabinets and fridge for any ingredients he can use. Eventually, he gathers a small assortment of items and lines them on the counter before starting the stove. I'm curious to see what grand recipe he's going to pull off with spaghetti, tuna, and canned tomatoes.

Killian sets a pot of water to boil and, as the room heats, he pulls his ugly Christmas sweater over his shoulders. The simple gesture is sexy as hell. Add the sliver of skin that briefly becomes visible over the waistband of his jeans, and my mouth waters.

Because I'm starving, that's all. And that dehydrated garlic he's frying smells divine. I quickly avert my eyes.

"Alright," Killian announces, clapping his hands together. "Time to work some magic."

As I watch him expertly stir and season the canned tomatoes, I admit that a man at the stove has an unfair advantage. And Killian St. Clair doesn't need the extra leg-up to be irresistible.

Gradually, the scent of the sauce fills the air, making my stomach grumble even louder. I'm getting hungrier by the second, only I'm not sure if it's for the food or the chef himself. I try not to get lost in his movements, but it's hard not to be drawn in by his confidence and skill.

"Almost ready," Killian says, flashing me a grin as he plates our pasta. "I hope you're prepared for a taste sensation, Sugar Spoon."

"Color me impressed," I admit, eyeing the spaghetti hungrily. I fill my Brita with tap water and bring two glasses to the bar.

"Let's dig in," Killian says, handing me a fork.

As I take my first bite, I can't help but moan with delight, savoring the delicious flavors as they dance across my tongue. "Mmm, are you sure these are canned tomatoes?"

He rolls a handful of spaghetti around his fork. "I take it the dish is to your satisfaction?"

I've just stuffed my mouth with another huge forkful, so I have to chew before I can answer him. "This is the most delicious thing I've eaten in forever. Maybe you should be a chef in this world."

"Nah, I've got a few handy tricks, but I'm not sure I could pull it off long-term."

He winks at me, and my stomach flip-flops on itself. Also robbing me of the ability to speak, it seems.

"Alright," Killian says, flashing me that charming grin of his. "If not a pastry chef, what do you do in this world? You mentioned grad school?"

"Ah, well." I'm a little self-conscious under his intense gaze. "I'm a computer science major. My research focuses on artificial intelligence and language models."

"Wow," Killian responds, clearly impressed. "Why language models?"

"It helps combine my passion for coding with my love of reading."

"Ah, so you're not just a bookworm with a penchant for romance novels."

"Hey!" I laugh, swatting his arm playfully. "There's nothing wrong with being a bookworm, thank you very much."

"I'm the prince of bookworms, no judging here," he says, smirking as he takes a bite of pasta.

"So, what about you?" I ask, still chewing. "How did you become a billionaire, anyway?"

"Ah, that's a bit… foggy," Killian admits, looking genuinely perplexed. "I'm not entirely sure, to be honest."

"See?" I tease, pointing my fork at him. "You do have amnesia!"

"Perhaps." He chuckles. "Or as you said, the author of the book didn't bother too much with my back story. The story opens with me already rich."

"And you have no other memories of your past?"

"Recent past." He stares at me intently. "I'm stark clear on everything. Distant past? It's a bit hazy."

I twirl spaghetti over my fork, staring down at my plate. "I'm sorry."

"Hey." The softness in his voice forces me to look up again. "What for?"

"Killian," I murmur, tracing the rim of my glass with my finger, "this transition, from your life to… this. It's my fault." My gaze locks with his, searching for any sign of struggle or discontent he's too kind to voice. "How can you be so calm?"

A hint of vulnerability flickers in his eyes. "It's a bit surreal, to be honest." He leans back, his eyes searching mine as if I could give him answers. "And I know I should probably be more freaked out. It's strange, but having you here is grounding me. Everything else"—he gestures at the surroundings—"is second fiddle."

My heart skips a beat at his words. "So, you won't miss your old life?" I probe gently, curious about his feelings.

His gaze on me is steady. "There are aspects I will miss, sure." Killian pauses, collecting his thoughts before responding. "And it is unsettling to be here, but almost exciting in a way."

"Exciting how?"

"It feels like getting a clean slate, a chance to redefine myself." There's a determined glint in his eyes. "So, yes, there will be challenges, but also the freedom to explore, to be someone new. And that's exhilarating."

"But you were super successful before, what if you can't replicate making billions?"

"You want in on a little secret, Spoon?"

"Sure."

"When you have so much money you don't know how to spend it, it almost stops meaning anything."

"Ah." I roll my eyes. "Said every rich person who never had to worry about making it to the end of the month."

"I'm just saying you might get more satisfaction from saving thirty bucks for buying a new hardback from your favorite author than I would've gotten from buying a new champion Arabian stallion for two million dollars."

I choke on a mouthful of pasta. "Two million dollars for a horse?"

Killian shrugs. "Not even close to being the most expensive."

"And you're fine not being able to make extravagant equine purchases anymore?"

"I told you, it all becomes meaningless after a while. It'll be fun to build it all up again."

I roll the fork between my fingers, contemplating. I'm not sure why, but I believe him. Maybe because I want what he's saying to be true more than I'm ready to admit.

We finish our lunch in silence, both lost in our own reflections.

"Let me do the dishes," Killian offers after we've polished off the last of the meal.

I raise an eyebrow skeptically. "Aren't you used to having servants and staff do these things for you?"

"Spoon," he says, rolling his eyes playfully, "I might not know much about my past, but I'm not a stuck-up prick. Of that, I'm certain."

"If you insist," I relent, watching as he collects our dishes and heads over to the sink.

Then he does the unthinkable.

Killian unbuttons his cuffs and rolls up his sleeves. All the while staring at me with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Something caught your interest, Sugar?"

Okay, now. Everyone knows rolled-up sleeves and sexy forearms on display are a major pitfall in romance novels. Even the strongest heroine in the most heated enemies-to-lovers is powerless before the sight of wrist-to-elbow bare skin. But does he know?

If the cocky smile on his face is any sign, he's well aware.

"Nope, nothing," I squeak, swallowing hard and tearing my eyes away from those veiny hazards.

Killian winks and finally turns toward the sink. But I still seem to be hypnotized because I keep following his every movement. The way he swiftly grabs the soap dispenser and effortlessly pumps out a dollop of foam onto a dish sponge. He turns on the faucet with a graceful twist and starts scrubbing the frying pan he used to make the pasta sauce.

I can't help but watch, captivated by his every action. The way he massages the soap into a lather, his hands moving in rhythmic circles, is oddly enchanting. He has a knack for turning mundane tasks into seduction rituals. Now I wish I needed to be cleaned as well.

"Stop staring, or you're going to make me blush," Killian teases without turning.

"Who says I'm staring?" I feign innocence.

"Oh, I just have a sixth sense for these things," he replies with a shrug.

"Well, this time your radar is off."

The jerk dares to laugh. "Sure is."

To save what little face I have left, I reluctantly pull myself away from the Killian show. "Thanks again for lunch and for taking care of the cleaning, too." I head over to my tiny desk, determined not to fall behind on my research and classwork. "I really need to get some work done," I explain, trying to ignore the magnetic pull I feel toward him.

"Of course," he says.

I power up my laptop and settle on the task that requires the least mental bandwidth, namely grading homework assignments. Still, as I begin to sort through papers, I remain hyperaware of Killian's presence. In fact, I know exactly when he's finished doing the dishes and can sense him hovering near the counter, probably unsure of what he should do with himself.

As I turn, I find him staring at the room, a little lost.

"Hey, why don't you go for a walk, explore the neighborhood a bit? I'd go with you, but I can't fall behind, especially if we're going to be gone all of next weekend."

Killian scowls at the window. "I don't think that weather calls for a stroll around the neighborhood."

I follow his gaze to the window and note for the first time the battering rain. Oh, so I could tell the exact moment he turned the faucet off, but the storm an inch away from my nose completely escaped my notice.

"Or you can enjoy our last days of streaming TV. I can put noise-canceling headphones on. You won't disturb me."

He gazes at me. "What's behind door number three?"

I try not to let my eyes linger on him for too long as I think. "Or maybe start figuring out what you want to do in this world. There aren't many ranches or cowboys in Chicago." My cheeks heat up as I add, "That is if you plan on staying here with me once you get your papers sorted out." I hate the dread that pools into my stomach that he's going to say no.

Killian stares at me intently, making it difficult to breathe. "Sugar Spoon," he says softly, "I intend to stay with you for however long you'll have me."

I chuckle. "That's cheesy, even for a romance novel hero. You have many of those lines in your repertoire?"

"Guess you'll have to find out."

"Here." I toss him my phone. "Start researching possible career pivots."

He catches it, showing impressive reflexes.

"The passcode is 1234," I add, trying to sound casual, even though my heart is doing somersaults in my chest for no reason at all. Maybe the fact that I'm handing a perfect stranger the key to my most personal possession. Or maybe it's the way those gray eyes are fixed on me.

"Seriously—1234? Your security is extremely lacking."

"Hey, we don't all have a team of cyber experts at our beck and call."

"Aren't you supposed to be the cyber expert?"

"Yes, but since I've nothing to hide, I don't need my phone to be inexpugnable. No secrets there," I conclude, glad I deleted the half a million dating apps on it a while ago.

The corner of Killian's mouth tilts upward, and he gives me a mock military salute before plonking on the bed with my phone in his hands. I turn back to my work, doing my best to ignore the occasional prickle on my scalp when I can't shake the feeling he's looking at me.

The afternoon passes like that, Killian researching potential careers while I mostly focus on my work. We make it through the day like two people who are somehow both new and familiar to each other.

We eat leftover pasta from lunch for dinner that Killian insists on reheating in the oven—not the microwave—as it'll taste ten times better. It does, I admit reluctantly.

This time, though, I refuse to let Killian clean up. "It's only fair," I insist, grabbing the dishes before he has a chance to argue. Also, I'm not sure I could withstand another display of forearms without swooning past the point of no return.

When I finish washing everything and turn around, I find Killian already under the covers in my bed.

"Excuse me," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, "what do you think you're doing in my bed?"

"Going to sleep, of course," he replies nonchalantly. "Or were you planning on going out?"

"Uh, no. But you're sleeping on the floor."

"Why would I sleep on the floor?"

"Because I don't know you. We're not sharing a bed."

Raised skeptical eyebrow. "You know what I smell like, what it's like to kiss me, how I prefer my coffee?—"

I struggle to keep a straight face while blood rushes to my cheeks. "None of that happened in this reality. You should stay on the floor."

Killian makes a show of looking down to the hardwood. "Nah, doesn't look too comfy." He flashes me a grin, lacing his hands behind his head—elbows wide, biceps bulging. "I prefer the bed."

"We're not sleeping in the same bed, period."

"You can have the floor if you'd like."

"Shouldn't you be a gentleman about this?" I huff, putting my hands on my hips.

"Ah, not a cinnamon roll, remember? You should consider yourself lucky I've kept my underwear on since I usually sleep naked."

"Ugh!" I groan, exasperated and intrigued all at once. "Cinnamon roll or not, that's not how romance heroes handle themselves in only-one-bed situations, you know?"

"Maybe I'm a romance villain." He smirks, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

I roll my eyes but can't help smiling as I decide this is not a hill worth dying on.

Resigned to sharing my bed with the beautiful bastard, I slip into the most unsexy flannel pajamas I own, brush my teeth—noting how Killian already helped himself to my spare toothbrush—and crawl under the covers next to him. I'm hyperaware of the warmth radiating from his side, and I try not to let it distract me as I mentally prepare for a night of awkwardness. Or to even tempt me into removing any of my flannel protective layers.

I kill the lights with a curt, "Goodnight."

"Night, Sugar," he purrs.

I keep quiet on my side of the bed, but I'm far from falling asleep. True, I've gotten used to going to bed early, wanting to join him in Lakeville Hills. But now that he's here… I can't rest.

"Sugar Spoon," Killian says, his voice low in the darkness. Looks like he can't sleep either. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Will you ask even if I say no?" I counter, trying to keep my tone light despite the nervous flutter in my stomach.

"Probably," he admits with a chuckle.

"Fine, ask away."

"Okay." He clears his throat, and I can practically hear the mischievous grin on his face. "Why don't you want to date me in this world? Is it only because we don't really know each other—or is it because you don't like this version of me?"

I sigh inwardly, thinking that I might actually like the real him more than the fictional adaptation. But I don't tell him that. Instead, I choose my words carefully, letting the truth spill out while still keeping a playful tone. "Well, that we don't know each other is definitely a major factor. But I'm also scared you're not here to stay. You could vanish at any moment, just as fast as you appeared."

"Ah," he murmurs, and I can feel him shifting under the covers, turning toward me. "So what you're saying is you're afraid of falling for a figment of your imagination?"

"Exactly," I reply, relieved that he gets it. And in the darkness, it's easier to be honest. "I'm not saying I feel nothing for you, because I was there at the bakery and the first time you brought me to the lake and at the barn and when we kissed after escaping those thugs. But I don't know if I could stand it if I let things progress between us and then you, poof, disappeared."

He doesn't respond, so I continue. "It's best if we just stay friends for now."

"Friends," he repeats, and there's a hint of something in his voice that makes my heart ache. "Alright, friends it is." I'm about to apologize for hurting him when he adds, "Even if I have to say that's going to be the hard road for you."

So much for hurting him. I can hear the teasing in his tone, loud and clear. "Hard road? Road to where?"

"To happily ever after, friends-to-lovers is always the hardest for the woman."

My turn to shift and face him. "Why?"

"Here's how it goes. You say now you want to be friends, but you'll soon realize how truly madly deeply in love you are with me."

"Confident much?" I interrupt.

"Factual. And then you'll want to confess how you feel, but since I won't have made a move on you in ages to respect your request, you'll doubt if I'm still interested." Pause. "I will always be interested in you, by the way."

Those last whispered words are an electric shock to the spine. I don't know what to say.

"Then, when other women will inevitably get into me, the jealousy will begin. And the pining, oh, sooo much pining. I'm almost sorry for how lovesick you're going to turn?—"

I whack him with a pillow before he can continue. "You're a jerk."

He chuckles, completely unfazed by my pillow assault. "I'm just saying, friends-to-lovers is a bumpy road."

I roll onto my back and let out a heavy sigh. "I can handle a bumpy road."

What I can't handle is a broken heart.