As I got the fire roaring, the cabin began to fill up with the intoxicating scent of sizzling steak and herbs. My stomach growled in response, my mouth watering from the aroma. I glanced from the building fire to the kitchen where Rosie was chirping around, her ass wiggling as she moved the pans around the stove.

She looked happy and relaxed. I noticed she’d found the white wine bottle I’d bought for her and had poured herself a full glass. When she turned toward the refrigerator, I could see the flush on her cheeks and the half-smile on her face. My whole body went warm at the sight. She’d been through hell and back these past few days, and here she was, alive and smiling. Safe. Happy. Warm.

How could I make sure she stayed this way?

She twisted away from the refrigerator and spied me watching her. A knowing look lit her eyes, but I did my best to ignore it. It was hard enough wanting her without her knowing about it. If she knew how much I thought about dragging my tongue across her glowing skin, I had a feeling I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from giving in.

“Come here,” she said, gesturing toward a bubbling pot on the stove. “Have a taste and let me know what you think.”

Slowly, I stood and made my way into the kitchen, doing my best to keep my body to myself.

“Try this.” She dabbed a spoon into what looked like mashed potatoes before pressing it to my lips. With my eyes held tight on hers, I took it into my mouth, imagining it was her nipple instead of some food.

An explosion of flavors spread across my tongue, and I raised my eyebrows. “Damn. I’m a fan of mashed potatoes, but this is something else, Rosie.”

She lifted her chin and looked very pleased with herself. “Thank you. It’s missing a couple of things, but this will have to do.”

With a delicate touch, Rosie spooned the food onto two plates. Steak, potatoes, some sort of broccoli casserole dish. I’d never been a fan of green shit, but somehow, she’d made all of it look like the best meal I’d ever seen. As she finished prepping the plates, I poured her another tall glass of wine and grabbed myself a whiskey from the bar I’d found just down the hallway.

“Cheers,” I said, lifting my glass as we both settled in at the kitchen table.

Rosie clinked my glass and watched me dig into the food before she started on hers. I could tell she loved how much I liked the food. She’d been at it for over an hour, passionately focusing on every single element of the dishes. This was the brightest I’d seen her since we’d met in the rain the night before, and I could tell all of this was important to her somehow.

“Where’d you learn to cook like this?” I decided I should ask, since she looked like she really wanted to say.

She lifted her knife and began cutting into the steak. “Mom got me started, but I learned most of this at school.”

“School?” I raised my eyebrows.

“I got a culinary degree at UT.” She paused to take a sip of wine, a frown flittering across her features. “I had big plans, you know.”

“Big plans?” I asked, suddenly intensely interested, which was unlike me. I’d never been much for small talk, and I’d never cared much about the ramblings of the girls that caught my eye. Makeup and jewellery and reality TV, that’s all they were interested in. Rosie though…There was much more to her than that, something I’d noticed since the moment we first met. And I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to know everything about her.

I wanted to know about her plans and her dreams. I even wanted to know about her kid.

God, I was so fucking doomed.

“Yeah, I thought Owen and I would move to New York one day. I could get a job at a restaurant. Work my way up.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “I thought I could open my own restaurant after several years of putting in the time. Pretty delusional, huh?”

I set down my knife and fork and met her eyes across the table. “No, Rosie. I don’t think that’s delusional at all. This food. You’ve cobbled it together from a bunch of random ingredients, and you’ve made it taste like something straight out of a Michelin star restaurant.”

And trust me, I’d been to a few.

Her cheeks brightened as I continued. “I know we just met, but you seem like you’ve got the kind of determination to do whatever you want in life. Plus, you’ve got the fucking skills.”

“But the FBI…” she trailed off. “Scooter…It’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible,” I said, picking up my knife. “Don’t give up on your dream.”

We ate the rest of the meal in silence, though it wasn’t strained or uncomfortable. I knew Rosie was lost in her thoughts, and I let her mull over my words. I didn’t know what had gotten into me, going off about dreams and wishes like that. It was completely out of character.

I was just a man without a life. No hopes or plans for the future. A loner. A fugitive on the run for the rest of eternity.

I didn’t have dreams.

I had nightmares.