By the time dinnertime rolled around, Rhett was feeling a little like he was waging a war. The last thing he wanted to do after the long, slightly strained conversation with his older brother was to sit in the lodge’s dining room with all eyes on him as he ate with Nat.

Which is why, when he heard a knock on his door and opened it to see her standing there, a bottle of wine in her hand and a Tupperware container tucked under her arm, he almost sighed in relief.

“I thought I’d make you something,” she said, breezing past him into the house, heading straight for the kitchen. “I got stuff from the lodge kitchen. Alfredo ok?”

He nodded. “How’d you get Henry to let you in the kitchen?” he asked with interest, settling himself on a stool at the kitchen island. “He’s usually more territorial than a bear. He doesn’t even let me in there, and I own the place.”

“You don’t have my winning personality,” Nat smiled. “Henry and I bonded over our mutual love of Italy and our mutual hate of that hack chef at the Norris.”

He rolled his eyes. “Are you still on that?” he asked. “That was what, last summer we went?”

“The lack of vegetarian options was a travesty,” Nat said.

“Considering I was the vegetarian in question that night at that particular restaurant, you’d think I’d be the one all offended.”

“They tried to feed you a salad of tomato slices and onions and said it was a good vegetarian option! In Portland, of all places! We are the land of hipsters and vegans!”

“It was pretty gross,” he admitted. “But if I’m not angry about it, why are you?”

She sighed. “You never come into the city unless you have to. The least I can do when you actually do come in from your hermitage is to feed you good food and show you the best the city has to offer. When I miss a mark, I get cranky.”

“Your perfectionist streak is going to bite you in the ass one of these days,” he drawled, smiling to let her know he was joking.

She tossed him a head of garlic and he caught it automatically. “Dice that up for me,” she said, before going to dig in his cabinets for pots and pans.

Rhett tried to concentrate on the task, but it was hard when she was bustling and bending around in his kitchen, her jeans hugging her perfect ass in the most distracting way.

“You know I’m not staying away from the city because of bad salads, right?” he asked.

“I know,” she said, filling his stockpot up with water and setting it on the stove to heat. He watched as she poured a glug or two of olive oil into the water, along with a few healthy pinches of kosher salt.

He liked her moving around the place like she owned it. She always filled a room, Nat did. It was the kind of talent and presence that few people had. But she did. Always.

“Did you call Jace?” she asked as she began shredding the Parmesan cheese.

He nodded. “He’s coming out tomorrow morning to look at everything for me. Hopefully he’ll just be able to clear it up with a few calls.”

“I’m sure if he just gets it in front of the right people, it’ll be dismissed,” Nat assured him. “I can’t believe there are silly laws like that still on the books,.”

“Garlic is diced,” he announced, putting down the knife.

She took the cutting board from him, scraping the garlic off the wood and into a skillet where she was heating butter and heavy cream together. “Nutmeg?” she asked.

“Really?” Even as he was asking the question, he was reaching over her head to the spice cupboard and removing the bottle for her.

“Just a touch,” she said, adding a tiny pinch to the heating mixture.

“I like that you never measure anything when you cook,” he said after a few minutes, watching as she added the pasta to the boiling water and the cheese to the cream and butter and he made the garlic bread.

“And I hate that you still won’t tell me what’s the secret ingredient in your garlic bread,” she shot back.

“It is a sacred secret passed down from Oakes woman to Oakes woman,” Rhett said, adopting a mock horrified look. “And also to me, because I was the only boy who was remotely interested in cooking, so my Grandma told me.”

She laughed, flicking a chunk of garlic at him.

“Grandma always told me that my ability to cook would win me all the girls,” he went on. “But really, I was more interested in my stomach. My father sucked at cooking and our housekeeper when I was a kid was obsessed with casseroles. But my Grandma was a great cook. It was total selfish food love, nothing to do with getting girls.”

“That came later, I’m sure,” she said.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve seduced scads of women with my kale salads.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she said. “Grab the colander for me.”

He grabbed the stainless steel contraption, holding it over the sink as she poured the pasta into it, draining the water. She added the pasta straight into the skillet with the sauce, tossing it with tongs until each noodle was coated with the thick, creamy Alfredo.

Rhett plated the garlic bread and carried it over to the table; then poured wine as she brought the pasta and the bowl of salad—not kale this time, but romaine with apples and sunflower seeds.

She always ate with one of her legs tucked underneath her when she was at home or in his dining room, a cute little habit that he would’ve never known if he hadn’t invited her deeper into his life. How many times had she cooked in this kitchen now? It must be dozens. Often when she came out to River Run for a ride, she stayed the night in one of the executive suites, and more often than not, they found themselves back here for dinner, at his place, instead of in the four-star restaurant that was literally a stone throw’s away.

You’ve been playing with fire for a long time, he thought. That dance last night was just adding fuel to it.

The pasta was perfect, and so was the little moan she made when she bit into the garlic bread he’d made.

So much fucking fire. What the hell were you thinking? You’re knee deep in flames, dude.

“So what did Jace say exactly?” she asked.

“That he knew something like this was going to happen and that I should have known better,” Rhett said.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Not in as many words,” he said. “But between the lines. He’s disappointed.”

“This isn’t your fault,” she said. “This is like one of those weird news stories you only hear about. Totally out of your control.”

“You know that’s not the way it is with my brothers,” he said. “I will forever be the fuck-up baby of the family.”

She rolled her eyes as she twirled fettuccini on her fork. “Your brothers need to get the hell over themselves and start seeing reality. You created something new out of River Run. A place that’s not just special, but lucrative. You made a smart business choice, Rhett. You’ve continued to make them through the past few years as you expanded. Why they and your father don’t see that as a addition to the family legacy instead of, I don’t know, some sort of thumbing your nose at their business, mystifies me.”

“It’s because they all refused to give me a loan when I wanted to do the initial expansion,” Rhett said. “Or rather, my father refused. Which means the Board of Directors of the Oakes empire refused, because my father’s word is law. I think… I think I was supposed to come crawling after his initial rejection. Tell him I needed his help with the whole process, not just with the money part. But I had a vision. I knew what I wanted. So I went out and got the funding. With your help.”

“I didn’t realize you’d asked your father before you went to New York,” she said softly, new understanding in her face.

He shrugged. “Family dynamics are weird sometimes. I feel like I’m forever stuck in the baby role, like everyone’s just waiting for me to lose it, because I was the motherless one.”

“Oh, Rhett,” she said, reaching out and squeezing his arm.

“I know they mean well,” he said. “They’re good people. They just…”

“They keep waiting for you to fall,” she finished for him, and it was the perfect way to put it. “And it’s meant well, because they’re waiting so they can catch you. But if they keep expecting you to fail, they’re going to miss all your accomplishments.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s… that’s exactly it.”

“I feel that way every day with my job,” she said. “Except my people, they’re not waiting to catch me. The men in the boardrooms, the ones like your father, the Big Dogs, they’re all waiting for me to fall so they can kick me even more when I’m down.”

“You’re not the type to ever fall,” he said, and she squeezed his arm again.

“Neither are you, Rhett,” she said.