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“Pool, please?”

“Of course.”

I add, with hesitation, “You’re welcome to taste my cakes, too. I mean, if you want to. I’d love to have your opinion.”

“It would be my absolute pleasure.”

He says it with such dignity, I believe him.

He leaves me to get settled, and I take a moment to look around the room in awe.

I take a couple of photos, making sure to include the ovens and the lush green view out the back windows. I send them to Mom.

I send them to Dani, too, along with Harlan’s address.

Me:Cocktails and charcuterie at 2:30! Bring a bikini!!

She’s been on standby for more details ever since I called her this morning on my way home; I told her I’d have her over to see the kitchen as soon as possible.

On second thought, I send another text.

Me:Bring a swimsuit for me too?!

I didn’t exactly think to pack one with my kitchen stuff.

Then I compose a text to Harlan. It’s my first time messaging him since we started screwing, and I feel weirdly nervous. Considering that thing I did to him right here, like a total lady boss, in broad daylight, just hours ago, you’d think I’d be over it. Cool as a cucumber.

I can practically still taste him.

But just thinking of him gives me an almost sickening thrill.

Me:This kitchen is beautiful. You don’t know how happy I am right now.

I get myself unpacked, move food from my cooler into the fridge and freezer, and lay out everything I need to make a couple of standard cakes. Vanilla and red velvet. I brought my own mixer, which Carlisle carried in from my Uber, and I want to run a couple of cakes through my new oven to get the baking times just right.

I’m just putting the vanilla cake in the oven when Harlan replies. When I see his name pop up on my phone, I get a sweet thrill in my chest.

Harlan:I hope it satisfies.

Oh, wow.

Is he flirting?

I decide not to text him back. I don’t need to bethateager.

I poke my head into the hallway. I hear faint noise that I think is coming from the direction of the chef’s kitchen, on the far side of the dining room, but it’s otherwise quiet. I move along the hallway toward the foyer, just wondering if maybe I should take a look around.

In the foyer, I don’t see or hear anyone, so I creep up the curving staircase to the second floor. Why not? Harlan’s already taken me up to his bedroom. Twice. If anyone sees me, I can just pretend I’m looking for a lost earring.

Harlan didn’t expressly say that it was okay for me to roam around when he wasn’t here, but when he gave me a key to his kitchen, he had to assume that I might poke around the house, right?

And he never told me not to.

It’s not like I’m going to dig through his office or anything.

All I really want is a closer look at his bedroom.

The door is shut when I reach it, and I open it quietly, slipping inside and closing it behind myself. My heart is pounding. Because this feels naughty, but in the good way.