“Oh. I…ah,” she stuttered as heat crept into her cheeks. “I mean, he’s good-looking.” Not as handsome as Adam, of course, but it wasn’t like she could say that out loud. “Definitely not my type though.”

“Oh, I see,” Adam said, his tone lowering. “Because Michael’s no Josh, right?”

Preslee bit her lip. No. He’s no you. “Exactly.” Adam’s brow lifted, as if he hadn’t expected her to agree with him. Oh man. Had she just offended him by talking about his brother like that? Of course she had. After all, that was his family she was referring to. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to insinuate that—”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, though he seemed to be gritting his teeth. “You want what you want. And if Josh is the one you want, then there’s nothing wrong with that. Besides, the last thing my brother needs is another woman fawning all over him.” He lifted a skillet from the burner and turned toward the plates. “If this gets any colder, it’s not going to be any good. Why don’t you have a seat at the table while I plate our meal?”

“I could help with—”

“I’ve got it,” he said hastily. “Just sit.”

Preslee stared at him momentarily, but his eyes wouldn’t meet hers. If that wasn’t a dismissal, then she wasn’t sure what was. So she maneuvered around the bar and sat down at the small dining room table that separated the kitchen from the living room. While waiting, she gazed around the room, admiring the open floor plan of the unit, which always made small spaces look much larger.

Moments later, Adam appeared at the table juggling two bottles of water and two plates of salad. Before she could jump to help him, he’d placed one of each squarely in front of her and deposited his across from her. Then he returned to the kitchen to grab their plates of food, which he promptly delivered before taking his seat.

Everything looked and smelled amazing. The scent of Dijon mustard and rosemary wafted up from the grilled chicken breast that had been paired with a side of couscous as well as some sugar snap peas and baby carrots that were vibrant in color. She could tell the crisp mixed greens on her salad plate were fresh and had been drizzled with a small amount of the dressing she’d seen on the counter.

“This looks great,” she told Adam. Then she took her first bite and hummed in appreciation at the perfectly seasoned chicken. “Mmm. It’s so good. Where did you learn to cook like this?”