I kissed her temple.

“What were you making?”

“Homemade chicken potpie with all kinds of yummy veggies and spices, all beautifully contained in a made-from-scratch pie dough.”

Shit. That sounded really fucking good.

She sighed in defeat, then said on a whisper, “I wanted to do this for you so bad, and I’ve messed it up.”

I gave her a squeeze, let her go, then moved to the counter where she had mixing bowls, cutting boards, and measuring spoons laid out, found the recipe she had printed, and picked it up, reading the cooking instructions.

“You take it out after forty-five minutes?” I asked, looking over at Wild.

She slowly turned her head.

“Forty-five minutes?” she echoed with a suspicious pout. “No. Why would I do that?”

“’Cause that’s the cooking time.”

“What? No it isn’t!”

She eliminated the space between us in three quick steps, yanked the recipe out of my hand while pulling a pair of red-framed glasses out of the front pocket of her apron and sliding them up her nose, then began scanning the paper frantically.

Glasses like that would be cute on anyone else.

They weren’t cute on Wild. They were sexy as shit.

“Like those,” I observed, watching warm hazels lift and peer up at me through the lenses.

She gave me a small smile and a sweet, “Thanks,” returned her gaze to the paper, and continued scanning.

I bent closer. “Want you wearing them the next time we fuck.”

With a gasp, her eyes snapped to mine again, this time going round.

I leaned back.

“Oh,” she breathed, swallowed, then added a quick, “O-okay. Yeah, that’s totally doable.”

Smirking, I jerked my chin at the paper.

“Back to it. You said forty-five minutes isn’t the cooking time, babe.”

With a frown, Syd resumed scanning the paper.

“There was no cooking time. It says right here, look”—she pointed at the bottom of the page—“put it in the oven, walk away, completely forget about it, and come dangerously close to burning the crust.” She looked up at me. “I did exactly those things.”

My eyebrows rose.

“Think you went a little further than coming dangerously close to burning the crust. I had no idea that was potpie.”

Her eyes narrowed. She stood on her toes and tipped her chin up.

I bit back a smile.

Fucking loved it when she challenged me like that. Her sass made my dick hard.

“It told me to walk away and forget about it. I was just following directions,” she snapped.

“Not all of them.”

I grabbed her hand and moved her finger to the top of the page, indicating where I’d been reading.

She gasped. “Look how tiny that is! Who can read that?” Her head whipped around and she glared at the stove. “I can’t believe this. I followed the recipe perfectly. It took me ages cutting up those vegetables. I cut myself twice, but I recovered. Everything else was simple. I even brushed egg wash on the crust so it would golden up and made a pretty design with a fork around the edges, and you can’t even tell. I’m not even sure it has edges anymore.”

I slid my hand to her hip.

“Wild.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t see the time, or question what I was doing.” She looked up at me with pleading eyes. “There’s something wrong with me. I let myself forget about what I was making. That’s insane! Who does that?”

Before I could answer, Syd lowered her head and crumpled up the recipe, holding it tight in her fist.

“I am so mad at myself,” she whispered brokenly.

Fuck that.

I moved her over so I could grab a spoon off the counter, stepped in front of the stove, leaned over it with a hand bracing on the granite, and dug into the burnt potpie. I got to the meat and vegetables baked inside, heaped a spoonful of them, and ate a mouthful.

I’d eat this whole fucking thing if it made her feel better.

“What are you doing?” Syd questioned at my back, her voice growing closer.

“Eatin’.” I scooped out some more, shoved it in my mouth, and said around the steaming bite, “Not into wasting something my girl took time to make for me. I’m finishing this.”

“Brian, don’t.” She wrapped her hand around my bicep and pulled. “It’s ruined. Look at it.”

I kept eating.

She pulled harder, laughing when I went in for a fourth spoonful.

“That can’t be good. Seriously. Stop. Come on.”

I swallowed my bite and dug around for more.

“Not bad, actually,” I said. “Once you get past the bitter, it’s good. I like the chicken.” Lifting the spoon to my mouth, I turned my head and peered over my shoulder, letting her watch me eat it. “Hope you made something else for you ’cause I’m eatin’ this whole thing and not into sharing.”

Syd laughed harder, tossed the crumpled recipe onto the counter, reached up, and covered my mouth with her hand as her other wrapped around the front of my waist and pulled me back, forcing me to leave the spoon in the dish and turning me away from the stove.

“Okay okay okay. You’ve made your point.”

I moved willingly this time, waited until her hand slid off my mouth so I could speak, then asked, “And what’s that?”

“That you’re incredible.”

I blinked, chewed up the rest of my mouthful, then swallowed it down.

She slid her hands up my arms to my shoulders and linked them around my neck, pressed her front against mine, and tipped her head back.

“You make everything better,” she admitted softly, running her tongue over her lips to wet them while coming up on her toes and getting closer, further admitting, “You make my entire world better.”

My hands, fitted around her waist, tightened. Warmth spread out from the center of my chest.

I dropped my head until it touched hers and closed my eyes, holding her and breathing easy, concentrating on every part of Wild’s body I could feel against mine and the sound of her living—shallow heartbeats and expanding lungs pushing life through her.

Best thing I’d ever felt.

Best thing I’d ever held.

Best girl period.

“Like hearing you say that,” I murmured, opening my eyes.

Her hands gave my neck a squeeze.

“Like saying it,” she whispered back.

I smiled, then pulled away but only because a phone started ringing and it wasn’t mine.

Sliding her hands down and off me slowly, Syd spun around and picked up her phone off the counter by the sink, looked at the screen with a curious tilt of her head, mumbled something about not knowing the number, then pressed a button, answering it and bringing it to her ear.

“Hello?” Her shoulders pulled back and her eyes lit up with alertness. “Yes it is. Oh, yes, hi, how are you?”

I watched and listened with interest, noting the mood this call was putting my girl in and appreciating whoever it was on the other line.

Syd answered a few yes and no questions, speaking quickly the way she did when she was excited about something, while she moved along the counter back and forth, finger twirling a lock of red and anxious eyes capturing mine every few steps. This only lasted a couple of minutes, then she was telling the caller to hold on so she could open a drawer and pull out a piece of paper and a pen, telling them to continue when she was done and jotting something down while pinching the phone between her ear and shoulder.