Page 28 of The Aster Valley Collection, Vol. 1

Truman leaned to the side so he could see me around Tiller’s wide shoulders. “Oh! Yes, and if you like that, you should try the anardana, too. Get the one from Hotz, it has a more nuanced flavor than mine. I haven’t been able to get it quite right yet.”

As I filled my basket with little bits and pieces of interest, I listened with one ear to Tiller’s polite questions about Aster Valley. Truman was soft-spoken but seemed to be a native Aster Vallian. Or whatever they were called.

“Nina Humphrey, down at the Crooked Bar Ranch, does horse-drawn sleigh rides if that’s something you might like,” Truman said, wringing his hands.

“And then there’s… um… well, there’s a little ice-skating rink set up behind the Sip and Save, but it’s not really big enough to do much actual skating on.

You’re better off going to the ice arena in Steamboat, honestly. ”

“I’m not much for ice-skating,” Tiller admitted. “But the sleigh ride sounds nice. What about the ski lift? Does that still run at all?”

Truman’s jaw set, and his hands almost turned white from how tightly they gripped each other. “The ski slopes are shut down.”

“No, I know. I read about it,” Tiller said, without noticing Truman’s reaction. “I was wondering if the lift ran for like… seeing the views from up there or taking hikes down the mountain or anything.”

Truman shook his head. “Afraid not. Not for a long time now.”

Tiller apparently wasn’t done with his interrogation. “Have any of the development companies thought about starting it back up again? Is that something the residents would even want?”

Truman opened his mouth to respond but then closed it.

He tilted his head in thought. “Well… I don’t know.

At first it was like the place was cursed or something.

No one would even consider it. But it’s been almost twenty years now…

” He glanced up at Tiller. “Wow, wouldn’t that be great?

Put the old history behind us and move forward again?

I guess if… if it meant jobs and stuff, the residents would probably be all for it.

But it would depend on the developer and the kind of people it brought to town. ”

Tiller nodded and turned to me. “Find anything good?”

When he saw my full basket, he laughed and reached out his hand to take it from me. My stomach did a little swoop every time that smile was directed at me, and I had to force myself to pay attention to what he was saying. “Go grab another one, and Truman can start ringing these up.”

When I got up to the counter with the rest of my selections, I asked Truman about where he sourced his spices. He blushed again and blinked rapidly at me. “I mean… I grow them? In a greenhouse? Most of them, anyway.”

“How do you manage that while you have the shop, too?” I asked. “Do you have a partner?”

“Oh, goodness no. Not… a partner, like that. The shop is closed Monday through Wednesday during the planting and harvesting weeks, and then I bring work here for some of the processing and packaging,” he said, stretching his arm out toward a long wooden worktable that spanned almost the entire width of the back of the shop.

There were mortars and pestles on a shelf behind the table and hanging scales at either end of the table as well.

Empty glass jars and packaging supplies took up some of the lower shelves.

“And I ship all online orders from here. If I have a big supplier order and need time at home to work on it, my friend Chaya comes in to help. And I’ve asked Solo from the diner for help a few times, too.

He’s very responsible. Pim and Bill use the same point-of-sale system I do, so it’s easy for him to mind the shop. ”

Once he got on a roll talking, he seemed to loosen up a little. When Tiller tried to pay, I pushed him out of the way with my hip and forced my card at Truman with a smile. “I’m sure we’ll be back before we leave. You have an incredible store here.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, well, thank you so much. Are you… Oh, I’m being silly. Of course you’re a cook. I only mean… like… what do you enjoy making?”

Before I could answer, Tiller stepped forward again. “He’s an amazing chef. He makes this lentil soup I can’t get enough of.”

I leaned in and stage-whispered, “It’s kaali daal.”

Truman laughed behind a hand. “Did you…” He rifled through the paper shopping bag where he’d been stashing my items after ringing them up. “Oh good. You grabbed the asafetida. You have to tell me what you think. You should be able to get the lentils at the supermarket around the corner.”

When we finally waved goodbye to the kind shop owner and made our way back onto the street, I was excited to get back to the house and start cooking. I had a million ideas and no clue which one to start with.

“What are you hungry for?” I asked Tiller.

He patted his stomach with his good hand. “Uh, a five-mile run to burn off these pancakes?”

So that’s what we did. Rather, that’s what he did.

I, on the other hand, set out all of my new goodies and began sketching out ideas for new recipes with them.

I got a few things started and then browsed online for tips about staging food for photographs.

Since I was a complete noob going into this cookbook project, I hadn’t realized the chefs had to help develop photo concepts for the book.

And I knew about as much about photo styling as I did about the various species of boa constrictors.

“What’re you working on?” Tiller asked on one of his passes through the kitchen for more ice water and a banana.

“Watching YouTube videos on food photography.”

He stepped up behind me until I could feel the damp warmth coming off his sweaty skin. “You want to take pictures?”

“Definitely not,” I said with a sigh. “But apparently I need to at least have a say in how I want these dishes presented in photos. I’m not sure yet who’s doing the styling and photography, but I don’t want to sound like a yard full of crickets when they ask me what my vision is.”

“Why don’t you hire an expert?”

Sweet little multimillionaire and his innocent view of the world.

“Uh, because it costs thousands of dollars and I don’t have an NFL contract?

” I closed the laptop and reached for my bottle of water.

I’d already noticed how dry the air was here, and I’d been trying my best to stay hydrated.

All I needed was to have Tiller accuse me of not practicing what I preached.

He was silent for a minute before shrugging. “I do. I can pay for it.”

I turned to face him, almost in slow motion.

It was one thing for him to buy me breakfast with his millions of dollars.

Often, he paid for things like that when we were together because it was easier to get one check and the impact on his wallet was infinitesimal.

I used to fight him on it all the time until finally realizing it made him feel good to take little burdens off me like that.

But this? This was personal. This was like offering to buy me a car.

“Um, no. But thank you for offering,” I said, trying not to lend any additional meaning to his casual offer than a friend trying to help another friend out.

“Wait,” he said, taking a seat at the kitchen island and pulling the laptop open again in front of him. “Hear me out.”

“No, thanks,” I singsonged, moving over to check on the bread dough I’d left to rise.

I didn’t usually make bread, but this was a high-protein, vegan loaf that would allow families to continue making sandwiches for people who didn’t like the idea of using lettuce leaves or thin wraps.

People like Tiller before I finally got him onto the seven-grain wraps he swore by now.

“Don’t be stubborn. Listen to me.” Tiller’s voice had turned serious, so I stopped and met his eyes. “Let me do this for you.”

Well, hell. How weird would it be for me to rip off my clothes and attack him right here on the kitchen island?

I spoke around the thick lump in my throat. “I can’t.”

“Mikey…”

No. Hell no. If he started using that affectionate tone with me, all bets would be off.

My clothes begged to be tossed aside. My dick begged to press up against him with a groan of hard need. Apparently, I was a “kind offerings” slut. What was up with that?

“I…” My voice sounded breathless and weird. I cleared my throat. “I appreciate your help. I do. But this is something I need to do myself.”

He met my eyes for a moment before nodding firmly. “Then I’ll help in other ways. Free ways. How about that?”

I nodded, refusing to think of the kind of free ways I might enjoy. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

Tiller’s grin was the one that could be used in war to subdue angry villagers. Or the one that could be used in a club to attract horny twinks into wanting to climb the man like a tree.

He hasn’t had sex in three years.

My stomach wobbled again. What if… what if I could take care of that for him? Just… a quick suck or jerk. Or hump. Or sixty-nine… Would that be so bad? We were a thousand miles away from everyone we knew. No one would ever find out if we hooked up on vacation.

I let myself fall into the daydream as I began punching down the bread dough. Of course, I wouldn’t actually do it, come on to my boss, but a boy could dream, right?

It was nice being here alone with him and kind of pretending to be a couple.

Clearly we weren’t actually pretending to be a couple, but everyone in town had made assumptions, and…

well, it was kind of nice. I liked the idea that it wasn’t so unbelievable a man like Tiller Raine would pick a little nobody of a guy like me.

That wasn’t to say I thought I was a nobody. But to the rest of the world, I was.

Tiller finished eating his banana—something I refused to watch him do because I was a professional, dammit—and walked over to my side of the island to throw the peel away. After chucking it in the trash can, he came even closer to me.

I watched him like a hawk out of the corner of my eye until he lifted his good hand and rubbed his thumb across my jaw.

Blood flooded my dick as I sucked in a breath of surprise.

“Little bit of flour dust,” he said in a low, deep voice that made my toes curl in their thick, fluffy socks.

Do not come in your pants.

“Oh,” I said instead.

He exhaled and stepped back, leaving his warm banana breath in my personal space. “Kinda cute,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

As soon as he was gone, I threw the dough back under a tea towel and hotfooted it back to my room for yet another masturbation session.

At this rate, December was going to be a very long month.