“Tell me,” he said softly and pushed the onions over to her to sauté as he started on the peppers.

“My mother owns a modeling business. My father is a fashion photographer.”

His expression didn’t change. He’d obviously never heard of the Bocelli.

That was incredibly freeing. “Modeling is extremely competitive. They fight to get the right photographer, to be picked for the big fashion shoots. Getting into a high-end agency is…important.”

Bull had paused to watch her face. As he returned to chopping, he frowned, then shook his head. “I forgot—there are male models, aren’t there? Did your ex play you to get into the business?”

“You got it.”

“What a fucking bastard.” Scowling, Bull set a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. That had to have hurt.”

“Thanks.” Her eyes started to burn with tears. Onions. Really, it was just the onions, and not the understanding gesture or sympathy in the deep voice. More than she’d had from her family. When she’d raged about what he’d done, her mother had told her she shouldn’t swear or speak in Italian—but hadn’t said a word about Jaxson’s deceit. Hadn’t tried to break the contract and get rid of him.

Needing to move, she dumped the peppers into the bacon grease and laughed at the sizzling sound. “My sisters would be scolding me about how unhealthy this is.”

Rather than complain about bad fats, Bull chuckled. “Not me. I love bacon.”

She smiled back and then blinked. No, Frankie. Bad, bad, bad.

No matter how likable he was. Or lickable—stop it. First, she was here for Kit, not for anything else. Especially not a gorgeous man who could be a real complication.

She turned her attention to sautéing. Much safer. Cooking always was.

Bull glanced at her. “I wanted to talk to you about your idea of an Italian theme night. How’d you come up with that?”

Wait, she’d just tossed that out there to Wylie. “It was just a thought, not anything to really…”

“Frankie. That wasn’t my question.” He rested a hip against the counter and waited.

That much self-assurance should be outlawed.

So, how to explain. She sure wasn’t going to mention that part of her agency job was to come up with inventive ideas in ways for models to present themselves, transform their portfolios, create unique brands. Apparently, that part of her brain didn’t stop, even in Alaska.

“Fine, it’s like this… In a city, restaurant theme nights aren’t that common since there are tons of specialty restaurants. But here, there’s only your place and McNally’s restaurant. Oh, and the pizza place.”

“Thank fuck for pizza.” Bull pushed over the mound of mushrooms and started grating pepper jack cheese.

“True. I’d be desolate without pizza.” She grinned at him, added the mushrooms, and started breaking eggs into a bowl.