Her cheeks turn a bright pink, and her eyes turn just a touch darker. “Are you guys done now?” Dylan asks, and we both laugh quietly. “I’m starving. Can I have a snack?”

“No,” Caroline says. “No snack.”

“Fine, but how long until dinner?” he asks as if he didn’t just have ice cream thirty minutes ago.

“About thirty minutes,” I say, walking to the fridge and taking out the steak that my cleaning lady bought.

“If you cook, I have to clean,” Caroline says, finally taking off her purse and placing it gently on one of the stools. “Those are the rules. It’s universal.”

“How about we both cook, and then we both clean up?” I ask, and she just looks at me. “It gives me more time to spend with you, and if your hands are in the water, I can kiss you, and you can’t push me away.”

“I’ve been letting you kiss me,” she says, laughing. “What do you want to make with the steak?”

“Normally, I would make baked potatoes,” I say, and her eyes light up. “We can pop them in the microwave for ten minutes,” I say, and she nods. “Is this you saying you want baked potatoes?”

“This is me saying that I don’t mind, and it’s totally up to you.” She smirks at me. “I’m a guest.”

I roll my eyes. “Touché,” I say. Grabbing the steaks, I open the butcher paper, then walk to the stove and open a drawer where I keep the spices.

“What can I do to help?” she asks, coming into the kitchen.

“I’m marinating the steak, and then I was going to do the potatoes,” I say. “Do you want to start the salad?”

“Yes,” she says. “Can I go in the fridge?” She looks at me.

“From this moment on, you can go in the fridge, the pantry, or the bathroom. You can go take a nap in my bedroom. Please do whatever you want to do. I want you to feel at home.” I want to shake her, but more than anything, I want her to smile more. I want her to laugh more. I want her to do all these things, and I want to be the reason she does.

“I mean, I don’t think I’m going to nap in your bedroom, but that couch in the man cave has potential,” she jokes, walking to the fridge and then opening it. She opens the drawers and takes out what she wants for the salad. “I’d ask you where the bowls are, but I’m going to guess, and you can say hot or cold.” I laugh at her and shrug, watching her open the cupboards and talking to herself. “If I was a salad bowl, where would I be?” She opens four before she finds it. “Found it.”

She walks beside me and looks at me. “What?”