Page 142 of Pucking Daddy

“I should probably make lunch.”

“We just had breakfast.”

She frowns. “I was too nervous to eat, and I’ve had a full emotional journey today. I’m starving.”

“Okay, Mrs. Halberg. What do you want?”

“Honestly?”

“No. Lie to me.”

She smiles into her glass. “Grilled cheese.”

“Alright, sit. I’ll make you the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had.”

She lifts one eyebrow. “That’s a bold claim.”

“You say that only because you haven’t tasted my grilled cheese yet.”

She laughs softly and settles onto one of the stools at the kitchen island, curling one leg beneath her. “I’m just saying, the bar for grilled cheese isn’t exactly high.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” I pull a pan from the cabinet and set it on the stove. “Anyone can make grilled cheese. Very few can make an exceptional grilled cheese.”

“Oh my God.” She takes another sip of wine, watching me with amusement dancing in her eyes. “Are you about to get pretentious over melted cheese?”

“Absolutely.”

I open the fridge and start pulling things out. Bread. Butter.

She props her chin in her hand. “So what makes this the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had?”

“Balance.”

She blinks. “Balance.”

“Exactly. You need flavor, texture, proper browning, and cheese melt. Too much of one thing and the whole structure collapses.”

I butter the bread and set the pan on the stove, aware of Zara watching me.

“Are you happy?”

I glance back at her. “Very.”

“I think I still worry on your behalf,” she says lightly, but not quite lightly enough. “For your job.”

I flip one sandwich and hear the satisfying hiss of crisping bread. Then I turn to face her fully.

“Don’t.”

Her gaze lifts.

“I mean it, Zara. Don’t carry that for me.” I rest my hands on the counter. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“And if Thomas Vance follows through?”

“Then he follows through.”

She stares at me, frustrated. “How can you say that like it doesn’t matter?”