Cope chuckled, the sound teasing my skin and causing a pleasant shiver. “How’s Luca?” he asked.
God, I loved that, too—his care when it came to my kid. I never would’ve thought standing in a kitchen would be reckless, but with Cope, it was danger personified.
“He’s currently playing some video game with dragons and archers, at least from what I could tell.”
“One of Kye’s favorites,” Cope said with a smirk. “Those two probably have a similar maturity level.”
A laugh bubbled out of me. “I’m gonna tell him you said that.”
“He’ll know it’s the cold, hard truth,” Cope shot back.
We were both quiet for a moment, the music swirling around us.
“So, what smells so amazing?” I asked, needing to cut the tension in the air and have something other than Cope to focus on.
“Pasta pomodoro. I wasn’t sure if there were things you and Luca don’t eat, so I thought this was safest. I’ve got a salad and some garlic bread ready to go, too.”
I inhaled the scents of tomatoes and garlic and couldn’t help the sigh that left my lips. “Italian is my favorite.”
When my eyes opened, it was to find Cope’s blue gaze locked on me. “Happy coincidence. Because it’s my favorite cuisine to cook.”
My heart picked up its pace, skipping, jumping, and diving into a roll. “When did this love of cooking arise?”
Something passed over his dark-blue depths, some shadowy emotion I couldn’t quite pin down. Cope shifted in place, turning back to the stove as if to check something. “After my dad died, it felt like the one thing I could do to help. I discovered I had a knack for it.”
An ache rooted itself in my chest. I didn’t know what it meant to lose a parent. Not really. My father had never been in my life, and my mom dropped me on my grandmother’s doorstep when I was three. It took me a while to realize what a kindness that had been.
My mom wasn’t cut out for consistent care and nurturing. She was too busy chasing one adventure after another. But my grandmother had given me more love than I could’ve ever hoped for. And I knew what losing her had cost me.
I searched Cope’s face, wanting to know more but not wanting to cause him pain. “Car accident, right?”
Cope’s knuckles bleached white as he gripped the pan’s handle. “Yeah,” he rasped.
It had been the wrong thing to ask, and guilt swept through me fast and hard. “What’s your favorite dish to make?” I asked, trying to change the subject as quickly as possible.
His grip loosened. “I make a mean pork ragu over polenta.”
My eyes flared at that knowledge. “You don’t mess around.”
One corner of Cope’s mouth kicked up. “I don’t have time to do it all that much. That’s what makes the off-season nice.”
“I volunteer as taste-test tribute because I’m hopeless when it comes to cooking.”
Cope stared at me for a long moment. “Sutton, your baked goods are some of the best things I’ve ever tasted.”
“I’m good atbaking,” I corrected him. “That is like night and day from cooking. Figuring out the right measurements and flavors in baking just makes sense to me. Cooking? I’m all thumbs.”
Cope shifted closer—so close we were almost touching. Close enough that I could just catch flickers of mint and sage. “Sounds likewe make a pretty good team,” he rasped. “Dinner and dessert. Salty and sweet.”
Oh, hell.
Suddenly, I couldn’t stop the images that rose of Cope licking chocolate frosting off the column of my neck and then dipping lower. His heat swirled around me as his eyes dropped to my mouth. My lips parted, and my breath hitched.
“Mom! I’mstarving!” Luca yelled from the staircase.
I startled, moving backward and pressing a hand to my chest over my hammering heart as if that could get my heart rate to slow. But Cope didn’t look fazed in the slightest; he simply glanced over my shoulder and called, “Come and get it, Speedy.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
