When her fingers were clasped in mine, I said, “Thank you.”

“No, no, no.” She shook her head. “I’m not here as your nurse. I’m here to spend time with you and to see what that feels like.”

“And?”

“I’m really liking it so far.” She licked across the lip I had once watched her bite. “Had we not been interrupted, I would have told you, I would love to be your guest but under one condition.”

“I’m ready.”

Her other hand moved to her hip. “This can’t affect your improvement in any way. When I’m in my scrubs, you will listen to every direction and order I give. During those hours, I’m here to make you the healthiest version of the new Caleb Hunt. Deal?”

“Hell yes.” I laughed.

She squeezed my fingers before releasing me and went over to the clear bags that housed the vegetables. “Now, direct me because I’m terribly lost.”

While I gave her instructions, Whitney filled me in on a little more about her life. In the time she’d been working for me, we’d covered the basics, but this conversation gave me a deeper knowledge of the details. I learned what it was like for her to grow up in a large family in Stowe and to have Emily as her roommate at Boston University before they rented the same apartment they’d been living in for the last five years. That she didn’t get to visit her family in Vermont, where all of them still lived, as much as she wanted. She was just starting to describe her desire of traveling when the timer went off.

She mitted her hand and took the lasagna out of the oven. “Look at the masterpiece that you made,” she said, placing it on the counter.

“You did all the work; I’m not taking any of the credit.”

“Let’s decide who gets the award after we’ve tried it.” She plated two pieces and several slices of bread and brought them to the table.

I carefully rolled myself in that direction, my body clenching from the movement, and she met me halfway, positioning me across from her seat.

“I’m going to grab the wine. I’ll be right back.”

As she turned, I took a glimpse of her ass, the jeans hugging that impeccable heart shape, one that was even tighter and more flawless than I had imagined. I was still staring at her when she returned with a bottle of red that she poured into our glasses.

“This deserves a toast.” I held mine high in the air. “To your first home-cooked meal, which smells exceptional, and to many more together.”

Her grin grew with each word. “I like that.”

We sipped, and I reached for my fork, cutting the corner of the layered pasta. “Mmm,” I groaned. “This is fucking delicious.”