Chapter 15

Colten and I stood shoulder to shoulder, peering into the fridge while Jewel packed up her cleaning supplies. I was trying my best not to seem as uncomfortable as I was about the fact that she’d spent an entire day cleaning up the mess we’d made, and then I realized it was about to get worse.

“I’m hungry, but there’s nothing in here.”

“What are you talking about?” I scoffed playfully. “The entire fridge is packed. We’ve got enough food. It’s just a matter of deciding what we want to eat.”

I sensed movement in my periphery, but before I could turn to look at Jewel, she suddenly poked her head in next to mine, her body so close that I felt her chest against the back of my arm whenever she inhaled. A sweet, citrusy scent had come with her and I breathed it in, finding it clean and feminine.

“You’ve got everything you need to make a good casserole,” she suggested helpfully, clearly unaware that her presence in my personal space was causing my muscles to tense with restraint. I wanted this woman something fierce, and I couldn’t have her, which naturally only made me want her more. “You can never go wrong with a good casserole.”

I glanced at Colten, sharing a look with him that told me he didn’t know how to make a good casserole either. Jewel planted a hand on her hip as she looked between us. “Don’t tell me you’re so rich that you’ve never had casserole before?”

“It’s been a while,” I admitted, thinking back to my youth and the meals Walt used to prepare for me as a child.

Well, prepare was a strong word. Walter had always been better at picking out frozen meals at the grocery store than he’d been at cooking. Somehow, he even managed to botch those sixty percent of the time. But my memories of that period in my life were happy ones, even if my tongue had suffered for them.

Amused exasperation danced across her pretty face. Her eyes were alight with humor but her lips were slightly pursed as she tilted her head to the left. “Let me stay and make you dinner. Consider it a June Lake welcome party.”

“I should say no, but I’m not going to.” I gave her my best attempt at puppy eyes. “Instead, I’m just going to say yes, please, and be grateful.”

She smiled, nodding as she deftly stepped in front of me and opened the fridge that I’d just closed. “You two go wash up and I’ll get the ingredients out, but get ready to work. You’re going to help me.”

Colten seemed happy to help. Smiling, he raced to the sink and poured a generous amount of soap into his palms. I followed him, relieved that she was staying to help us. Even if it was just for one night, at least it was one night I wouldn’t have to worry about cooking.

“Chopping board?” she asked as I lathered my hands with soap.

I glanced at her over my shoulder and grimaced. “We, uh, haven’t tracked those down yet.”

More amusement flashed in those golden eyes, but then she nodded and started rummaging through the cabinets. When she’d finally found everything she needed, Colten and I sat at the kitchen island, him grating some cheese and me slicing the onions while we watched her cook.

“Would you like some wine?” I asked once the potatoes were in a pot and the meat was still defrosting. “This doesn’t have to be a marathon and you’re definitely staying for dinner.”

She lifted both eyebrows at me. “Are you sure? I was just going to wait until it all goes into the oven before I leave.”

“No, stay.” I got up and pulled a bottle out of the wine fridge in the corner. “Red or white?”

“White,” she decided out loud, then wagged her index finger at me. “Only one glass, though. I’m driving.”

“Of course.” I reached for two glasses then, filled them up, and added some ice before I poured a glass of soda for Colten.

Picking it all up, I handed theirs over and settled down with my own glass in front of me. “So, how do you know how to cook?”

Sliding the onions into a pan, she shrugged and shot me a small smile. “Both of my parents passed away a long time ago. Scott and I were older when it happened, so we had a handful of recipes from our Mom and some dishes she taught us how to cook, but we had to perfect them ourselves.”

I nodded slowly. “I get that. My mom passed when I was a child and my stepdad tried to teach me how to cook on top of everything else, but we never had time to get much further than boiling eggs and chopping stuff.”

She chuckled as she turned the heat on the onions a little bit higher. “I get that. How about you, Colt? Have you learned how to cook yet?”

“Nope,” he said with a one-shouldered shrug, glancing at me. “I’m trying to hang around the kitchen at home more, but no one wants me holding the knives or setting the house on fire.”

She laughed, nodding her agreement. Then she took her first sip of wine and her eyes flew wide open. “Wow. That is amazing. It’s the best wine I’ve ever had. Where’s it from?”

“New York,” I said vaguely, not telling her how much it cost or that it had come from a private reserve. I’d developed some pretty particular tastes in wine, and I’d had a few crates delivered before we’d arrived. “What is it about the scent of frying onions that makes you feel like you’ve walked into your home for Sunday dinner with everyone you’ve ever cared about?”

Jewel took another sip of her wine and smiled. “I don’t know, but that’s so true. It’s one of my favorite scents in the world.”

“Same,” Colten said, giving her a happy smile. “Thank you for staying to cook for us.”

“You’re very welcome.” She added the chicken to the onions and focused on the stovetop for a while.

Soon, the kitchen was filled with delicious aromas. Once the dish was in the oven and the scent of melted cheese joined the fray, my mouth was watering. Trying to stave off my hunger, I sipped my wine and peered at her curiously. “You grew up here, right?”

She nodded. “I sure did. How about you? I’ve just realized I don’t even know where you’re from.”

“Los Angeles,” I said. “Born and raised.”

Spinning to face me, her eyes were wide and suddenly shining with excitement. “Really? That’s so cool. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to anyone who grew up there. Aren’t most people transplants?”

I shrugged. “Some. Those who go there for Hollywood, anyway. There are also plenty of people who have no interest in joining the entertainment industry, though. A lot of those are locals.”

“Ah.” She smiled. “I guess that’s true, but I never thought about it as just another city. It’s all about fame there, right?”

“Nah. Not for everybody.”

Colten laughed suddenly. “Only for most people.”

She shot a finger gun at him. “That’s kind of what I thought. How is it going to school there?”

While he answered her question, we drank some more of our wine, and by the time she put dinner on the table, I was positively ravenous—and then I took my first bite.

I nearly gagged. It was horrific. So salty that I could barely swallow it. The potatoes were still hard, the chicken reminiscent of rubber, and the vegetables like a soggy soup under a layer of slightly burnt cheese.

She made Walt look like a five-star chef.

Colten chugged all of his soda and half his glass of water after just his first bite, looking like he’d seen a ghost when he came up for air. He glanced at me desperately to save him from this night, but I fixed him with a glare.

Jewel had spent all day cleaning our house and then she’d stayed to cook for us. The least we could do was to be polite.

She flashed us a proud smile as she joined us, mixing everything around in her bowl. It made squelching sounds and I hid a grimace by fixating on my own food while Colten gripped his stomach, looking woozy all of a sudden.

I nudged his shin under the table, waiting until she wasn’t looking before I mouthed, “force it down and puke later.”

He winced, but then he glanced at her and sighed. We suffered through the meal, choking on each bite, but Jewel was none the wiser. She chatted throughout, asking us more about LA and apparently not noticing that neither of us were sitting at the table while we ate.

Colt and I both kept getting up, pretending to eat while we got something else to drink and dropping little bits of our food into the trash once we were out of sight. About halfway through, I considered getting a dog to feed in case she ever offered to cook for us again, but I didn’t think it would be fair to the dog.

One day, I knew we’d be laughing about our attempts to empty our bowls without offending her, but that day wasn’t today. By the time I gingerly scraped my teeth across my fork on my very last bite, I felt ill, but I still smiled at her.

“Thank you, Jewel. Would you like some more wine?”