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Kel’s hand grips the back of my neck, holding me in place. A gasp escapes me and it takes everything in me not to melt into his touch. I should be livid. Furious that he’s holding me against my will. Intellectually, I know his bossy, alpha-ish manner is unattractive. But right now? Him arguing that I need to stay here because he’s taking care of me and doesn’t want me to hurt myself? It’s so fucking hot I want to die.
“Stay, Maggie.” Kel’s request is a growled whisper in my ear. My thighs clench involuntarily at the sound, and I shift my hips, hating that he can feel my reaction.
Of course, I’ve already insisted I need to leave. I’m not sure how to give in without giving up control of the situation. Letting him take care of me—just like everyone has my whole life—rankles. Frankly, it’s the only thing keeping me from turning into a puddle of feminine acquiescence on this couch. So I pull on the only thing I can think of in the moment that might break the unbearable tension building in the silence of Kel’s cabin.
“What about Olive?”
Kel pulls back, his hazel eyes inches from mine, his fingers sliding into the hair at the back of my neck. “You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”
His eyes drop to my lips and, before I can stop myself, I pull it between my teeth. Kel’s eyes go dark, and he leans back in, so quickly I don’t have more than a moment to take a breath before I assume his lips will be on mine. Only they never touch.
I crack my eyes open, annoyed I’d closed them in the first place. Kel’s lips are a hair's breadth from mine. “Let me take care of you.”
Kel’s words hit me like a truck. Shit, shit, double shitty, shit. How did I get myself in yet another situation where I need to be rescued? Taken care of. My problems solved for me.
With a groan, I push him away from me, relieved when he doesn’t put up a fight. The cold air on the back of my neck as he releases his grip on me sends shivers down my spine. “I don’t want to be taken care of.”
Kel tips his head to the side. “Okay, fine. But you can’t drive on that foot, you’ll only make it worse.” He glances out the window at the fully dark sky. “And it’s late and raining. Do you really want your sister to drive all the way out here in this weather?”
“Ugh. No, I don’t. Stop being such a rational bastard. It’s unattractive.” I pick at a piece of leaf stuck to my sweater to avoid making eye contact. When I look up, Kel has the tiniest of smirks on his face. I can’t sleep in Dr. Grumpypants’s room, not knowing that sexy smirk is fifteen feet away. I’ll do something stupid. It’s my M.O.
“Fine. But I’m not taking your bed.” A thought occurs to me. “Can I stay at Greg and Jackie’s?” Surely the older couple has a spare room, and knowing they’re there will keep my stupid libido under control.
Kel shakes his head. “That cabin only has one bedroom. Long story,” he adds when I open my mouth to ask why.
Before I can ask any more questions, or Kel can surprise me with any more dirty tricks to convince me to stay, the front door bangs open. Kel is on his feet in an instant and I scramble back, about to stand, when he puts out a hand to stop me.
“Mac and cheese, mac and cheese, mac and cheesy, cheesy, cheeeeeeeeeeeeese!” Olive sings at the top of her lungs, vaguely to the tune of Dance the Night, complete with hand claps and moves from the movie. Greg and Jackie follow behind her, a large casserole dish in Jackie’s hands.
A moment before, Kel’s body had been taut, like a predator cornering his prey. Me. But the moment he sees Olive, the tension leaves him. His shoulders drop, his spine softens and his hands—the ones that seconds before were buried in my hair—are shoved in his pockets. The transformation is extreme.
I know most dads are suckers for their kids, but it’s more than that. It’s like these three people are the only ones in the world who know the real Kel. The soft Kel.
Now I’m burning with a desire to be the fourth.
“Dad, Grandpa Greg let me make the sauce all by myself.” Olive comes dancing over to Kel, pulling him down to kiss his cheek. She does it almost every time she enters a room—it’s adorable. What’s even more adorable is that he always stops whatever he’s doing so she can.
“You made it all by yourself, huh?” Kel gives me one last glowering look before allowing Olive to drag him off to the kitchen. Jackie and Greg join them, and the clatter of meal prep follows.
While they’re busy, I take a moment to get a good look around Kel’s place. The walls are a soft white with the natural wood baseboards and window frames that are so popular here in the Pacific Northwest. I’ve been deposited on the couch, which sits in the center of an open-concept living/dining/kitchen area. The tiny entry is flanked by a powder room—I caught a glimpse as Kel carried me in. The two rooms taking up the other side of the space must be bedrooms.
It’s tiny, probably designed to be a guest house rather than a permanent residence. But there’s something very homey and comfortable about it.
I’m surprised by how new everything looks, since I know this winery has been around for quite a while. This can’t be the same cabin Kel talked about growing up in.
“Here you go, dear. How are you doing?”
Jackie hands me a steaming bowl of pasta and perches on the edge of the couch, her kind eyes assessing me. “That’s a nasty scratch.”
“I’ll be okay, and Kel doesn’t think it’ll scar. Thank you,” I add, lifting the bowl in her direction. “This looks delicious.” I peer into the bowl, surprised to see bright green peas and some kind of chopped up meat mixed in with a creamy yellow sauce and twisty pasta noodles.
Jackie smiles, leaning closer to whisper conspiratorially. “It’s Kel’s recipe, even though we call it the Jackie Special. He invented it when he was trying to get Olive to eat more than just Kraft Mac and Cheese and chicken dinosaurs. She went through a bit of a picky-eating stage when he and June separated.”
I take a bite and the creamy, cheesy mix fills my senses. An almost bacon-like flavor adds an unexpected depth to the dish. “What is that? It’s so good.”
Olive drapes herself over the back of the couch, one finger pointing dangerously close to my bowl of magic. “It’s fried ham. I got to fry it and then Grandma Jackie chopped it up real good. It’s the only part of the cooking she’s allowed to do.” Olive dances away when Kel calls her over to the table.
Pink creeps up Jackie’s cheeks. “I’m not known around here for my cooking skills. I make a killer sandwich, but that’s about the limit of my skills.”
