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“I can still ask.”

“You can.” He set the container of marinated steak on the counter, followed by several bell peppers and an onion. “Doesn't mean I'm going to tell you.”

Her eyes narrowed with playful suspicion as she studied what he'd taken out. “Fajitas?”

“So much for the surprise.”

A hint of triumph flashed in her eyes. “The ingredients gave it away.”

“Good detective work.”

“I spend time with a sheriff. I'm picking up a few things.”

He chuckled as he reached back into the refrigerator. Apparently, spending time with him was rubbing off on her. He couldn't say he minded that one bit. “Wine or beer?”

She considered the choices for a second. “Wine, please.”

He pulled out a bottle, poured her a glass, then grabbed a beer for himself and got to work.

Her presence changed the kitchen’s atmosphere. He was used to cooking with Rissa perched at the island, usually with her phone nearby and a running account of whatever had happened at school that day. Tonight, soft music played from a speaker on the counter while she sipped her wine and watched him slice peppers.

He liked having her there. Maybe too much. It was too tempting to picture other evenings like this, but he pushed the thought aside. Tonight was tonight, and for now, that was enough.

He'd just finished slicing a red pepper when she stretched her hand across the island and snatched a strip from the cutting board. He stared at the empty spot, then slowly lifted his gaze to her. She popped the evidence into her mouth.

“Did you just steal one of my peppers?”

Covering her mouth while she chewed, she managed to look completely innocent. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“I watched you do it.”

That didn't faze her. She swallowed and reached for her wine. “Then why did you ask?”

Smart-ass.

He went back to slicing, unable to keep the grin off his face. Conversation flowed around the cooking after that. They talked about the ride that afternoon and how much worse her muscles would probably feel tomorrow. She told him more about how Edith's recovery was going, and he filled her in on a few things happening around town that didn't involve burglaries, arrests, or anything else he'd rather forget for one night. Every so often, another pepper slice disappeared.

Her commentary continued as he worked. Since cooking was one of the many things she did for her show—and she’d even published a cookbook—she knew what she was talking about. That didn't mean he needed her to critique his knife skills, how thick he cut the onions, or his decision to buy guacamole instead of making it himself.

“For someone who wants me to feed her, you have a lot of opinions.”

“I’m trying to help.”

He stopped chopping and gave her a look that should have told her exactly what he thought of that claim. Apparently, it didn't. She raised her glass and took another sip, hiding a smile behind it.

Shaking his head, he set the knife down. “I'm starting to regret inviting you.”

“No, you're not.”

The certainty in those three words wiped the comeback from his mind. Their gazes met across the island, and for a moment, the teasing fell away. The attraction that had been building between them all day was back, reminding him this wasn’t just two friends sharing dinner.

No, he didn't regret inviting her. Not even close. But if he kept staring at her instead of cooking, they wouldn’t have anything to eat. He picked up the bowl containing the meat and brought it to the stove before dinner became an afterthought.

The steak sizzled as it hit the hot skillet, and the scent of garlic and spices soon filled the kitchen. He added the onions and peppers to another pan, keeping one eye on both while taking a pull from his beer. Behind him, a stool scraped against the floor.

He looked over his shoulder and caught her coming around the island. One glance at the uncooked pepper strips he'd saved for his Monday lunch told him exactly what she wanted.

“Oh, no, you don't.”