She opened the box and offered him one, then popped another into her own mouth and closed her eyes dreamily. “So good.”

Eli gritted his teeth as the gooey inside of the chocolate melted in his mouth. How did she make the simple act of eating so sensual? He swallowed. “We’ll be eating in the dining room. Do you need anything before you get started?”

“No, I’ve got everything sorted. Don’t worry,” she added, seeing the apprehension on his face. “It’ll be fine. Go and be with your parents.”

He headed back to the dining room, which he’d cleaned and filled with a large oak table, which stretched nearly the entire length of the room. His parents and Therese had congregated at the end nearest to the fireplace—not that it was burning, with the warm summer air.

“Dinner will be ready in an hour or so,” he informed them.

“I assume you’ve hired a cook?” Frances asked, as if the idea of cooking for themselves was inconceivable.

“Yes, Mother. She came highly recommended.” So highly recommended, it made him suspicious.

“Nothing but the best for my children,” Phillip commented.

An hour passed in stilted conversation until Aria emerged with the ravioli. A patterned apron covered her summer dress, and she had a spot of flour on her cheek. Eli wanted to lick it off. Then his mouth watered for a different reason. Damn, the ravioli smelled good.

“Aria,” Therese exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Cooking your dinner.” Her eyes slid nervously toward Eli’s parents, then back to Therese. “How’s the kitten?”

“He’s fab. I’ve named him Aroha,” Therese replied. “Because I love him. He’s soooo cute. He slept on my bed last night.”

Frances and Phillip both frowned, and Eli gestured for Therese to stop talking. Their parents weren’t partial to pets and were no doubt looking for somebody to blame for the kitten.

“I’m glad it worked out.” Aria wound around the table, placing a bowl of ravioli before each of them. Everyone waited while Phillip tasted the first bite.

“Delicious,” he said after a painful five seconds.

Aria beamed and scurried from the room. Eli felt oddly proud of her, a strange warmth in the vicinity of his chest. He shouldn’t be surprised that the woman could cook. She also saved kittens and stopped stupid girls from getting a criminal record. What didn’t she do?

The best surprise was dessert, a beautifully decorated yellow cake. Three tiers high, spotted with edible daisies and butterflies, it was a work of art.

“Did you do this yourself?” Eli asked, unable to mask his approval.

A smile elevated her face from simply pretty to beautiful. “Yes, I did,” she replied. “I’m a bit of an amateur cake decorator.”

“It looks divine,” Frances said. “Lacking the flair of a true professional, but no one would expect you to reach their standard, dear.”