“That is . . . impressive.”

“You’re impressed that I can cook?”

“I’m impressed that you know how to make more than frozen pizza,” I say.

“We cook at the station all the time. Nothing fancy, but we can’t eat crap constantly if we want to stay in shape.”

“Still. I’ve never been close to a guy who could hold his own in the kitchen.”

He checks the chicken then pulls the cheese out of the fridge. “Jake would be totally offended if he heard that.”

I wave a hand. “Jake doesn’t count. It’s his job.” And that wasn’t what I meant. I meant I’d never dated a guy who could cook, but since Carter and I are only fake-dating, I don’t want to make this awkward by explaining.

“I can cook,” he says, “though nothing like Jake and Nic.”

“You’re beyond competent, based on what I’m seeing here, and it’s kind of hot.” There’s that beer. Going straight to my head and loosening my tongue.

“Oh, yeah?” He waggles his brows. “I also do my own laundry and put the seat down after I use the restroom.”

A giggle bursts out of me, and it’s so unexpected that I snort. “God, Carter. Do me right now.”

“I thought that might get you.” He grins. “Tell me more about your parents.”

“Okay . . . Mom can be bossy and is very conservative, but she loves her girls. I’ve never doubted that. She hates that I moved away, but I know she’s proud of me. And Dad dotes on her. When I was a teenager, I thought it was annoying. He’d do whatever she wanted. Vacations, home renovations—everything was up to her. But I understand now that it wasn’t because he was a pushover. He truly didn’t care about the details. If Mom’s happy, Dad’s happy.” I hesitate, but I know I need to ask. “What about your dad? I know you lost him a few years ago, and I know the brewery was his business, but I don’t know much else about him.” When his grin falls away, I wish I hadn’t asked. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to—”

“No. It’s fine.” He takes a deep breath. “We lost him six years ago this month. Some days, it feels like it’s been longer than that, and other times it feels like it was yesterday.”

“You really miss him a lot.”

He nods but doesn’t meet my eyes. “Especially lately.”

Since he lost his friend in the fire. “I’m sorry, Carter.”

He pokes at the chicken, and I’m not sure if he even heard me, but after a long pause he finally says, “Dad was my mom’s joy. He’d usually come home when she was working on dinner. The house was always chaotic—five kids, half of us with a friend or two over, and throw in a dog most years—but it was a managed chaos, thanks to Mom. She was always doing five things at once after school—helping us with homework, talking to someone on the phone, making dinner—but no matter what she was doing, she stopped everything when Dad came in the door. I didn’t always appreciate the magnitude of that gesture, but when I spent time at my friends’ houses, I realized a lot of parents start sniping at each other when they’re both home. Mom and Dad certainly had their disagreements, but they saved those for another time.”