I prop myself against the counter and watch as Vance puts green beans, diced potatoes, and baked chicken on two plates with his back turned to me the entire time. He’s obviously focused on what he’s doing, which I don’t mind—but why demand that I drop my book and come in here if you’re too focused on meal prep to even talk to me? I’m not the kind of person who likes to put up with very much bullshit, but before my annoyance gets the best of me, I choose to break the silence myself.

“So, how was your day?” I ask, crossing my arms as all one hundred and ninety pounds of Vance Whiteman moves from place to place without even looking in my direction.

“It was fine,” he replies without turning his head to make sure his voice reaches me. “I submitted two-hundred words for my article well before the deadline so I could get here early, but you seem more interested in that book. I took a look at the cover while you were in the shower. What’s it about?”

I pinch my lips together for a second, climbing my way over his passive aggressive statement before letting out an exhale.

“It’s, uhh, about a therapist who’s struggling to help a new patient,” I try to explain without getting too deep into it. “The patient is a bit of a psycho who was obsessed with her ex. From what I’ve read so far, she’s into the therapist and they might have a thing.”

“That’s it?” he replies. “Seems like there has to be more to it if you were in there getting yourself off while reading it.”

I exhale again. “Well, it’s an erotic book.”

“Ah. Erotic,” is all Vance says in response, before spinning around with a plate in each hand and a smile plastered on his face. “Dinner is served.”

I feel the urge to knock both plates out of his hands, but I swallow it down like a disgusting medicine, and mirror his fake smile. We were supposed to have a romantic evening to ourselves, but if how it started is any indication, we’re in for a very long night.

Chapter Four

Wow, that was so good, Vance. Really, I’m surprised at how well you seasoned the chicken.”

“Thanks, sweet pea,” Vance says with a proud smile. “We had a maid when I was growing up, and she taught my mom a thing or two about seasoning chicken. I guess my mom perfected the recipe. I’m glad you liked it.”

I look at Vance out of the corner of my eye. “Well, I’d thank your mom’s maid if I could.”