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“And you’re still talking.” He tugs my hair gently, tilting my head back. “When you could be putting those pretty lips to better use.”
I should stop this. We’re in a professional kitchen. Elliot trusted us with his space.
But Brandon’s looking at me like I’m the only thing he wants to taste, and honestly? The food can wait.
I grab his shirt, pulling him down to me. “Let’s clean up and go home.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time someone got caught in here.” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Do I want to know?”
“Probably not.” He grabs the pan, smirking. “Though I heard Elliot and?—”
“Nope.” I toss a dish towel at his head. “The only mental images I need involve you, me, and a bed.”
All I need is him.
THIRTY-FIVE
BRANDON
I’m still fumbling with my shirt buttons when Elijah and Gemma’s voices drift in from the entryway. My fingers freeze, my heart lurching as Naomi’s casual response floats back. The ease in her tone, so different from our first awkward fake-dating disaster, makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
This is actually happening.
My reflection stares back from the mirror, collar crooked like a drunk frat boy’s.
Naomi appears in the doorway, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “Ready?”
“Does it look like I’m ready?” I gesture at my disheveled state, fingers still tangled in these damn buttons. The fabric feels wrong against my skin, too tight around my throat.
She crosses the room and swats my hands aside, taking over the buttons with ease. “You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.” Her fingers work their way up my shirt before straightening and smoothing the collar.
“Story of my life.”
“There.” She steps back, admiring her handiwork. My shirt sits perfectly, the collar framing my neck. “Now you look like someone who might actually know his way around a kitchen.”
“Might?” I raise an eyebrow at her reflection.
Her lips quirk up. “Well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”
I follow Naomi into the dining room where Elijah and Gemma wait. The table’s set with gleaming silverware, two little flowerpots, and wine glasses catching the light.
“Brandon.” Gemma rises, wrapping me in a warm hug. “The kitchen smells amazing.”
“Let’s hope it tastes as good as it smells.” I catch Elijah’s calculating gaze over her shoulder. He’s traded his usual suit for a casual button-down, but the assessment in his eyes remains razor-sharp.
“I’m sure it will,” Gemma says, the same diplomatic touch Mom always had. Maybe that’s why Elijah is obsessed with her.
“Well.” I clap my hands together. “Who’s ready for the first course?”
“Do you need help?” Naomi asks.
“No, cupcake. I’ve got this.” I squeeze her shoulder, drawing strength from her presence. “Just keep my brother entertained.”
“Okay.” She grazes my lower back with her hand as she moves past me to take her seat.
Back in the kitchen, I plate the appetizers with careful precision, each arancini ball perfectly golden, nestled against a swirl of vibrant basil pesto. My hands stay steady now, unlike that fucking steak fiasco.