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She turned and headed toward the kitchen and Poppy stood and followed her, her tags jingling with each footstep. There was something perfect about this moment. Something so domestic and calm.

Except for the lingering crackle of fire on her lips. That wasn’t calm at all.

This moment, except the crackle, embodied all the things she’d always wanted but never had. But she would have her own home soon. And it would have Poppy. It wouldn’t have Jace, but he would still be in her life.

That was all that mattered.

For now, she had his big, beautiful kitchen. Spotless and perfect. Like everything else in his house. She’d always admired the way he’d transcended his upbringing. The way he’d made something so orderly out of the chaos he’d been raised in.

She was afraid she’d inherited her mother’s transient, hippie dippy nature. And in terms of her taste in incense, she didn’t mind. But the restlessness she felt, the dissatisfaction with her surroundings... those seemed to be ingrained deep in her.

But instead of moving, she bought a new lampshade and curtains.

Her feet were itchiest when it came to jobs.

She’d had more jobs than most people twice her age.

Not because she couldn’t do the jobs she got, and not because the businesses she’d started had all failed, but because she’d simply never found anything to latch onto.

But Mrs. Brown had taught her to bake. Survival skills, the older woman had said.

And that had always been a part of her life.

So when the bakery downtown had gone up for sale, Sam had scraped together her meager life savings and poured herself into her new project with a vengeance.

When she was bored, she infused buttercream frosting with lavender instead of selling everything.

The next big step in defeating her restlessness was buying a house. And then when she needed a change, she’d paint a wall.

She was rising above like a mother effing phoenix.

Then there was her love life. Men didn’t stick with her, much like she couldn’t stick with a career. Or rather hadn’t been able to. No men, same job for the past two years .

She deserved a trophy. The Deferred Orgasm Award for Excellence in Abstaining While Getting Your Crap Together. Yeah, she was on the upswing for sure. Except for this little hiccup. But as always, Jace had her back, so the disaster wasn’t too big.

That was Jace. Steady. And neat. So many things she wasn’t.

Which was why she needed him. One of the many reasons why.

“You don’t have to do dishes,” he said, following her into the kitchen. “You cooked.”

She started rinsing the bowls, smoothing away stew chunks with her thumb beneath the running water. “I want to.”

“Seriously, it’s fine.”

She glanced over at him. He was leaning against the counter, his relaxed posture at odds with the tension coming off of him. “Oh my gosh. You don’t think I’ll do a good enough job on the dishes, do you?”

“That’s not it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, a sheepish expression on his handsome face.

“No, it totally is. Jace Colter. You don’t trust me to do dishes.”

“You’re scrubbing them with your thumb, Samantha.”

“They’re going in the dishwasher!”

“You have to pre-clean them correctly.”

“Holy frick, Jace. Your issues can be perfectly adorable, especially when they culminate in you wiping my kitchen table off after we have dinner at my place, or you vacuuming my couch before you sit on it, but this,” she said, holding up the bowl, “not so cute, my friend. It’s going in scalding hot water that will disinfect everything. It’s not like I let Poppy lick it. ”

“You wouldn’t.”

She arched a brow and took the bowl out of the sink, lowering it slightly. “You don’t think?”

“Sam,” he growled.

“Grrr. Jace is mad.”

“I will put you on the hide-a-bed.” He took a step toward her, his scent attacking her like a sexy beacon of temptation again.

She swallowed hard, tossing her head back, ignoring the lingering tingle in her lips. “Bastard. You have a bed with a down pillowtop and you would be put me on that abomination?”

He took another step toward her, his dark eyes clashing with hers, sending a little zing of heat through her. It was all that deferred pleasure business. This level of not-being-able-to-ignore-Jace’s-hotness wasn’t normal.

“If you let your dog lick my dish...” His tone was so menacing, his gaze so intense, and the tension in her chest was so tight...she snickered.

“That sounds like the world’s sickest euphemism.”

His lips twitched, as if he was trying very, very hard to hold back a smile. Or evidence of amusement of any kind over her shenanigans.

“Samantha, do not let your dog lick the bowl. And I’ll let you do the dishes.”

“Hollow victory, but I’ll take it.” She lifted the bowl back up out of Poppy range and turned to the sink. “You can do the breakfast dishes.”

“Great. I’m going to go take a shower. Pick whichever room you want, but the dog cannot sleep on a bed.”

“Fine. Fine. Good night, Jace the Grumpy Cowboy.”

“Good night, Sam. ”

He turned and walked out of the room and she just kept washing dishes. She didn’t even look at his ass.

Normal. Everything was back to normal. The kiss had inspired a bit of temporary insanity, but it was over now.

Totally over.

The next month was going to be just fine.