Page 36 of Finding Forgiveness

“Why don’t you head to bed,” she says. “It’s late, and I know you have an early start. I’m going to clean up this mess.”

I remove the cufflinks from my dress shirt, shoving them into the pocket of my trousers before rolling up my sleeves. “I’ll help you.”

“But—”

“I’m helping,” I grumble, cutting her off. As tired as I am, I’m not leaving it all up to her, especially now I know why she attempted to cook. I walk over to the sink and turn on the tap to heat the water. “What do you want to do, wash or wipe?” Her gaze moves from the burnt encrusted pan to her perfectly manicured nails, so I reach for the tea towel and toss it in her direction. “You can wipe.”

It’s not like I haven’t washed dishes before, but for some reason, it feels intimate doing domestic duties with her.

“Thank you,” she says when I pass her the clean glass.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, side-eyeing her.

“A little embarrassed.”

I chuckle. “Don’t be. Just promise next time you want to give me a steak, you’ll DoorDash it.”

“Yeah, my cooking days are done and dusted.”

“I’ve never known you to give up so easy. Have you thought about taking some lessons?”

“By myself … yeah, nah.”

“Get Jaz to go with you.”

Cassie rolls her eyes. “She cooks like a professional chef; she doesn’t need lessons.” She reaches for the chopping board I hand her as I move on to the burnt pan. I probably should chuck this, but I’ll give it my best crack. “You could come with me.”

“Hah, yeah right,” I scoff.

“Men take cooking lessons all the time, Maloney. We can’t live on takeout for the rest of our lives.”

“If you learn to cook, we won’t have to.”

“Newsflash, it’s not 1950.”

“Your point?” I ask, putting a little more elbow grease behind my scrubbing.

“You’re acting like a chauvinist.”

“Because I don’t want to attend cooking lessons?”

“No, because you’re expecting me to become a Stepford wife. Correct me if I’m wrong, but we’re in the twenty-first century now, mister. Times have changed.” She pokes my bicep with her pointer finger to emphasise her point. “You’re not the only one who works in this house.”

“I don’t even know what a Stepford wife is,” I reply confused.

She pulls back her shoulders and places her hands on her hips. “It’s a derogatory term for a submissive and docile woman who conforms blindly to the stereotypical role of an old-fashioned subservient wife.”

Wow, that was a mouthful.

“Firstly, we’re not married, Cass, and even if we were, I’d never expect, or ask you to be subservient.”

“Fine, that’s settled then.”

“What’s settled?”

“We will learn how to cook together.” I’m about to protest, but then she leans in and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Thank you for agreeing to do this with me. I’ll get online first thing in the morning and see what classes are available in our area.” When she draws back, she bounces on her feet and claps her hands together. “Oh my God this is going to be so much fun, Con.”

I just stand there and stare at her in disbelief.What in the fuck just happened?Her sweet smile screams innocence, despite the fact she knows damn well I was just railroaded.