Page 78 of Bound To Be Mine

Back at the house, I unloaded everything and got to work. I let the steaks come to room temperature while I prepped everything else. Seasoned them generously with salt and pepper. Got the grill heating up.

The Wolf purred to life like a dream. Even heat, perfect temperature control. I could have wept. I was going to buy a house just so I could have one of these outdoor kitchens. It wasn’t a want—it was a need. Every man needed a grill. It was just basic facts.

The sliding door opened behind me.

“What is that smell?” she asked.

I turned to see her standing in the doorway, still in her work clothes but looking tired.

“Dinner,” I said simply. “You’re right on time.”

She walked over to the grill, peering at the steaks. “You actually did it. You’re grilling.”

“I told you I would.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually cook.”

“Why would I have someone else cook when I can do it myself?”

She looked at me and laughed. “Most people in your tax bracket don’t cook their own food.”

“I like cooking. I just rarely get the chance.” I grinned at her. “Grab a beer. And one for me if you would.”

Mandy nodded. “I think that’s the least I can do.”

I plated everything a few minutes later—perfectly cooked steaks, roasted vegetables. We sat at her outdoor dining table, the sun setting over the hills, casting everything in golden light.

Mandy cut into her steak and made a sound that I felt low in my gut.

“Oh my God,” she said around her first bite. “This is incredible.”

“Thank you.”

“Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“My dad,” I said. “He liked to grill. Didn’t do it much later in life, but when we were younger, he used to do it all the time. At least once a month.”

“Well, he taught you well.” She gestured at her plate. “This is restaurant quality.”

Her praise meant a lot. I watched her enjoy the food, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction. I had made her happy, which brought me joy as well.

“So how was your day?” I asked.

“Good. You?”

“Got a lot of work done. Turns out when I’m alone without the usual disruptions, I can get a lot done.”

We finished dinner, and I started to clear the plates, but Mandy stopped me.

“Absolutely not,” she said. “You cooked. I’m cleaning up.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Those are the rules. Cook doesn’t clean.” She took the plates from my hands. “Go relax. I’ve got this.”

I followed her inside anyway, leaning against the counter while she rinsed dishes and loaded the dishwasher.

“No one’s ever done that for me before,” she said quietly.