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His lips curved even further as if remembering my best friend. “Well, I hope you paid more attention to the show than your dinner.”

“Sorry?”

Brody nodded toward the stove. The bitter smell of charred eggs filled the kitchen.

“Oh, crap!” I spun back around and moved the pan to the back burner with a loud squeak of metal.

Brody moved in closer, peering over my shoulder. “What are you making?”

A fresh wave of lemon and mint washed over me, and I turned back to Brody, my gaze resting on his chiseled chest. “Pecs.”

His eyes widened. “Pardon?”

“Eggs! I’m making eggs.” My face burned anew at the almost squeal of my voice and the smug grin on his lips.Pecs?Wonderful. Freud would have a field day with me. But, I could rescue the situation. Get my composure back. Act breezy. “Do you want some?”

Brody quirked a fair brow. “I’m not sure that’s the sort of question you should ask when you’re dressed like a contestant in a satanic wet T-shirt competition.”

He chuckled at his joke, a gravelly sound that vibrated in the air between us, and I swallowed hard. Did he think this was a time for laughter? I mean, why was he even smiling? Or here, for that matter? He’d practically given me a heart attack, criticized my timekeepingandmy cooking skills, and now he was laughing at me?

I couldn’t blame him, though. “Do you want some?” was hardly the best question to ask anyone when your boobs were practically on display. Particularly when the man standing eight inches away was a heartbreaker. One of the NHL’s most famous pin-up boys. One of its brightest stars, with the ego to match.

I closed my mouth, and he gave me a wink. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and I swear the angels sang in heaven at the sight.

“It’s nice to see you, Ro.”

The gravel left his voice, replaced by an easy lilt, and hell if I didn’t smile, too. Brody still had the power to melt my insides with one simple gesture. But before I could correct my poor choice of words. Take back my questionable question. A harsh light barreled into us as the kitchen lit up.

“What’s all the noise? Oh, hey, Brody. I see you found Ro. What the hell happened?”

My brother rubbed the back of his neck as he padded toward the kitchen counter. I swear, Brody couldn’t have moved away from me any faster, even if he’d worn his skates. Losing his closeness was like stepping into a draft. Chilly.

“I had an accident,” I said, clutching the yellow spatula tighter, hoping Coop wouldn’t see the trembling in my fingers. A small furrow appeared between his brows, and I sighed. His big brother alarm had gone off. I was almost twenty-four, but in his eyes, I may as well have still been in middle school.

Maybe I could have come up with a more impressive response. A better explanation for why I was in the kitchen standing beside his half-naked best friend, wielding a kitchen utensil. For goodness’ sake, my T-shirt resembled a scene from a horror movie. But admitting that Brody Flockhart had damn near taken my breath away over a pan of cremated eggs wasn’t something Cooper needed to know.

I looked at Coop. “Why is Brody here?”

Before he could reply, a second voice carried down the hallway. “Cooper? Ro?”

I sucked my lips in. Great. Now Gran was awake, too. She’d been sick last month and needed her sleep. She shuffled into the kitchen in fluffy slippers and a dressing gown, curlers nestling into her silver hair at unruly angles.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her gaze settling on my chest. I looked down at the red mess on my front.

“Ro said she had an accident,” Coop’s voice was flat, and his eyebrows raised. He pointed to the towel that hung off the stove door. “You better clean yourself up.” His gaze swung to Brody and then back to me. Surely, he couldn’t hear the hammering in my heart from Brody winking at me, but I felt every accusation in his stare. Every question. Coop loved to play the alpha-male of the house.

I finally put down the yellow spatula. “I had some trouble with my slushie cup. Someone should complain to the manufacturer. Ask them to make the cardboard thicker. Again, though, what is Brody doing here?” And why was nobody else surprised?

“Is that all?” Gran gave a half-yawn. “What’s burning?”

Brody huffed a laugh, and the corners of his mouth trembled. The urge to smack him over the head with the frying pan filled my entire body.

“It’s my fault, Mrs. Swan. I gave Rowena a fright. She wasn’t expecting to see me. I probably freaked her out.” All heads turned to Brody now. He leaned against the counter, massive arms folded across his bare chest, his gray sweatpants clinging to his muscled thighs like a second skin. I swallowed. Just like the Duke of Hastings, the sight of Brody Flockhart never got old.

“Nonsense. I’m sure Rowena is pleased to see you. It hasn’t been that long since your last visit.”

“Nearly five years,” I murmured before Gran’s probing eyes had me scrambling for words. “I think. Something like that. Oh, I don’t know, I haven’t been counting.” I was terrible at lying, and I swear Brody’s stare burned into my profile. I turned my head toward him. “Whyareyou back? And in our house?”

He cleared his throat and unwound his arms. “It was a last-minute thing. I’m here for a visit. Kind of like a holiday.”