“I was going to just cook some pasta for dinner if that’s okay?” Jack flips the switch on the side of the fireplace before heading toward the kitchen.

“Wait, you mean to tell me that after all this time you know how to cook?” I stop at the bottom of the stairs, just long enough to glare at him for holding out on me.

“Only pasta. That’s my one dish.” He’s tucked his towel around his waist, and I somehow can’t make myself stop staring at his chest and his smattering of hair. The smattering leading down to the waistband of his bathing suit.

“I’m always good with pasta. Is it cool if I shower?” I might actually need a cold one at this point.

“Of course. I’ll get this going in the meantime.” He waves me off and retreats to the kitchen.

Bounding up the stairs and into my room, I grab my toiletry bag and pj’s before checking out the attached bathroom. While it’s not super huge, there is a nice-sized tub I’m tempted to wallow in, but even I know pasta doesn’t take that long to cook, and I don’t want to keep Jack waiting. I curl my hair into a bun so it doesn’t get wet and take a quick (but very hot) shower. I pull on a pair of soft cotton shorts and an old T-shirt, wishing I’d brought something a little warmer to wear for the evening, but I figure the wine-and-fireplace combo should be able to take care of it.

Jack is still in the kitchen when I come downstairs. He’s changed, and from the looks of his damp hair, also taken a short shower. He’s wearing a fitted white T-shirt and flannel pajama pants that are doing . . . things . . . to his rear view. Good things.

He gestures to a full glass of wine on the kitchen island. “I figured you’d want some of that.”

“It’s like you’ve known me my whole life.” Sliding into the seat in front of the wine, I take a large sip.

He gestures to the chair next to me. “I also pulled that out. Wasn’t sure if you remembered to bring a sweatshirt.”

I turn to my right. A navy blue hoodie with the Captain America shield is draped over the back of the stool. I immediately tug it over my head, relishing its instant warmth and softness. “You know, in some cultures, giving a woman your hoodie is tantamount to a marriage proposal.”

Jack stirs something in a large pot positioned on one of the eight burners on the other side of the huge island. “Would those cultures happen to consist primarily of middle schoolers?”