Page 24

He shoots me a look. "Ava, you had half a glass of champagne and a handful of hors d'oeuvres all night. You need actual food."

I cross my arms. "And you're suddenly a chef now?"

One corner of his mouth lifts, just slightly. "I have my moments."

I huff, but I follow him into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he rummages through my fridge. Watching Liam in my space feels strange. Not bad, just… unfamiliar. He looks too big, too sure of himself in my tiny kitchen, pulling out ingredients with the same confidence he probably uses to close million-dollar deals.

"What are you even making?" I ask, watching as he sets a carton of eggs, a block of cheese, and a package of bacon onto the counter.

"Omelets."

"At" —I glance at the clock— "ten thirty at night?"

He shrugs. "Breakfast for dinner is a universal fix for any crisis."

"Are we calling this a crisis now?"

He meets my gaze, and something flickers there, something unreadable. "Ava."

I swallow, suddenly too warm. "Right. Omelets. Carry on."

I watch as he moves through the motions, cracking eggs into a bowl with practiced ease, whisking with one hand while heating a pan with the other.

"So," I say, because silence feels dangerous. "Is this a secret skill, or do you just make breakfast food when you can't sleep?"

Liam smirks, flipping the bacon with an ease that shouldn't be attractive, and yet, here we are. "Little of both."

Something about that makes my chest ache. Not the cooking. The not sleeping.

I don't ask. Instead, I watch him cook, and it's… weirdly domestic. Comfortable.

And even though it's foolish and I'll probably regret this when I wake up alone, I can't stop myself from watching the way his sleeves are still rolled up, his forearms flexing with every movement. From focusing on the way his jaw clenches slightly when he concentrates.

From imagining what it would be like if this weren't fake.

I drag in a breath, shaking off the thought. "Fine," I say, pushing off the counter. "But if I get sick, I'm suing."

Liam chuckles, like he knows I'm just filling space. "Noted."

A few minutes later, he slides a plate in front of me. And, damn it, it actually looks good.

I take a bite, trying not to moan at how stupidly perfect it is. "Okay, that's annoying."

His brows lift. "What is?"

"The fact that you're good at this too." I gesture at the food. "Is there anything you can't do?"

Liam leans against the counter, smiling as he takes a bite of his own food. "Plenty."

I narrow my eyes. "Name one."

He chews, swallows, then meets my gaze. "Stay away from you."

Oh.

Liam holds my stare for a beat longer, then shakes his head, like he's just now realizing what he said. He pushes off the counter, taking his empty plate to the sink. "I'll take the couch."

And just like that, the moment is over.