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I closed my eyes and listened to the rain drumming against the roof as Hart went into great detail about how we could comfortably fit in the tub together if we angled our bodies just right.

“I know you’re not in bed with your street clothes on.”

I raised a finger. “I’m not on top of the comforter.”

“Fair enough,” he said, grabbing the heel of my boot and lifting my leg. He unzipped my boots, slipped them off, and dropped them to the floor. It wasn’t long before Hart had me stripped down to my delicates and tucked in.

“Come lie down with me,” I mumbled, scooting over so he could join me.

“I’d love to, but I need to head to town. We’re a little low on provisions, unless you want to eat canned chili and a sleeve of crackers.”

“Say less. Be safe. Bring back chocolate.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he pressed his lips to mine for a delicate kiss that did little to tamp down my yearning for him.

“I’ll be back,” he promised before I passed out.

On Knees

Vera

I woke up to darkness and the sound of what could only be described as never-ending rain. I reached for my phone on the nightstand, winced at the blinding light, and frowned when I realized how late it was.

“Sweet Hart?” I called softly, stretching towards the ceiling and leaving the bed when he didn’t answer. I shrugged into a fluffy white robe Hart left for me on the armchair, used the restroom, and hunted that man down. The moment I cracked open the bedroom door, the scent of butter and rosemary made my stomach growl loud enough to embarrass myself.

The cabin was dim, except for the warm glow spilling from the fireplace and kitchenette. Hart stood at the stove, back to me, tilting a cast-iron skillet to spoon pan sauce over searing meat.

“Bout time you woke up,” he said without looking up. “Dinner’s ready. Take a seat.”

I didn’t sit at the small table that was perfectly set with a single candle flickering between place settings. Instead, I watched him while he was in his element—cooking with the same focus he used on the ice. Steam curled up around him, and he looked insanely good—insanely… domestic. It was a good look on him.

“Take a seat,” he repeated, moving to plate.

I sat in the chair that offered the best view of him and tried not to look surprised when he set my plate in front of me. The food seemed rich and elegant—far too advanced for a tiny kitchenette in a cabin in the middle of a vineyard.

“Wow, Sweet Hart. This is,” I paused and leaned down to take a whiff, “fucking amazing.”

His chest puffed up with pride as he uncorked the Chardonnay. “Of course it is. I made it.”

I scoffed. “Humble king over here,” I commented sarcastically.

“Never that. Before you are caramelized rosemary and garlic chicken thighs. I seared them in a cast-iron, finished them in the oven, then made a pan sauce with white wine, lemon, and a little butter. The potatoes and carrots are roasted with thyme and olive oil, and the salad is just greens from the market with a lemon vinaigrette to cut through the richness.”

“And dessert?”

He grinned. I was reaching for my wine glass when he briefly caught me off guard.

“You’re looking at him,” he said smoothly, taking the seat across from me. I paused, and our eyes met—his were sultry and teasing, and mine were full of heat and yearning.

“Can you at least wait until I’ve taken my first bite before trying to talk me out of my panties?”

“I didn’t have to say a word. The food did the talking,” he said confidently, pouring himself a glass. I cleared my throat, ready to change the subject and ask how his trip to town was, when I noticed him reaching for his earring. He was about to drop something heavy on me. I took my first bites and waited patiently until he built his courage. “Vera… I can’t do this anymore.”

My fork paused halfway to my mouth, and my appetite took a sudden nosedive. That wasn’t what I had expected. Not after the day we had—the ferry, the vineyard, and now a candlelit dinner for two.

I lowered my fork to the table, wiped my mouth with a napkin, and leaned back in my chair, waiting for him to rip off the band-aid.

“I… I know this isn’t what you want to hear.” My throat constricted, and I folded my arms over my breasts in a feeble attempt to hold my heart in my chest. “My pops told me that the best man was an intentional man, and I want to be with you without any strings or constraints attached.”