Later that day, the kitchen was hot and steamy as Piper hummed as she prepared dinner for herself and Mal. She was making the pasta dish he had so enjoyed on his first night back in the house. She told herself that it was quick and simple to make, but something inside her was telling her that she was cooking it because it was Mal’s favorite. She’d also taken a little more care over her appearance, having every intention of telling Mal, if questioned, that she’d been out for a walk and gotten sweaty. She was dressed simply in a pair of denim cut-offs and a flowing white peasant top. Her hair was freshly washed and styled, and she’d even put on a slick of makeup. As she tipped a bag of mixed salad into a bowl, Mal appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Mmm, that smells good.” He went over to the stove and stirred the pasta, inhaling loudly. “Shall I grab a bottle of wine?”

“Great.” Piper smiled, butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. And wine on top of those nerves? She went over and set the table, seating them next to each other, as usual. It would be odd if she changed things that evening.

Mal was rooting around in the fridge. “Do you want rosé? Or red?” He didn’t usually ask her what she would like—he would choose for them. Was he as nervous as she?

“Rosé, I think…no, red.” Piper knew she could drink rosé like it was soda. She felt like she could drink a vat of wine, to help her calm down, and drinking rosé would be a bad idea. Who knew what she might say after several glasses of wine?

“Cool, I’ll just pop down to the cellar to get one.”

As Mal jogged down the stairs, Piper let out a huge sigh. She couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened that afternoon. Hands shaking, she dished out two large bowlfuls of pasta and placed them on the table. She took a seat and waited for him to return.

After a few minutes, he returned. “Sorry, I was looking for a decent wine.” Mal uncorked the bottle of Argentinian Malbec and poured them both a huge glass.

Piper fought back the urge to down the entire glass in one mouthful. She raised her glass. “To a successful afternoon!” Most of the success for Piper had been down to Mal, both from the gift he had given her to the inspiration for her first design in a long time.

“To a successful afternoon!” echoed Mal, as he clinked his glass with hers. “I’ve been looking forward to this.” He forked up a big portion of the pasta and put it in his mouth, making noises of appreciation. “You know, I was prepared to throw you out after that first night, but then I tasted this and knew I couldn’t let you go.”

“You really decided to keep me on because of my cooking?” Piper laughed. There weren’t many things she could cook, and she was pleased that Mal enjoyed at least one of the things she could do well.

“I’d starve otherwise. Alena keeps me well-fed when I’m home, and people start to talk if I order pizza every night of the week.”

That was a part of Mal’s life that Piper struggled with: the constant public interest in his every move. Since working for him, she had checked a few news articles and celebrity websites, and there had been some less than complimentary things said about the cancellation of the tour and the impact on the fans. Mal hadn’t spoken about it and Piper hadn’t wanted to broach the subject, partly in fear for her job.

Bolstered by a few sips of the Malbec, that affected her more quickly than usual, she turned to him. “What do you miss most when you’re on tour?”

Mal’s faced screwed up as he considered her question. “Lots of things really, like just being in my own house, being able to do what I want when I want, pigging out on leftover pasta…” He winked.

“Can’t you do what you want when you’re on the road?”

“I try, but sadly Boyd won’t let me. Apparently, I can get into too much trouble.”

“Like getting too drunk for shows?”

“How did you know about that?” Mal’s tone changed, and he placed his glass down with a little more force than usual.

Piper shifted in her seat. “I read it on the web, on one of those celebrity sites.”

“You don’t want to believe everything you read.” He closed down and the easygoing vibe between them chilled somewhat.

They finished off the pasta in silence and Piper kicked herself for bringing up the failed shows. Her mouth really could run away with her when she’d had a couple of drinks. She cleared away the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, then hovered awkwardly between the kitchen island and the stairs, unsure of what she should do next.

“Why don’t we go down to the studio?” suggested Mal, and Piper nodded in agreement.

They went downstairs, Mal carrying the almost empty bottle of red. Piper took extra care as she followed him; the last thing she wanted was to fall down the stairs like a drunken idiot. She hadn’t spent a great deal of time in the room and took a couple of minutes to look at the framed tour posters, a couple of gold discs, and other memorabilia that charted Mal’s career. Feeling somewhat starstruck again, she wandered around, reading the dates and other newspaper clippings that had been framed and hung on the walls. She sipped the remains of her wine and realized her glass was empty again.

“Come and sit down.” Mal patted the cushion next to him. Piper noticed he had opened another bottle of wine. She was keen to have another glass, but also mindful that she needed to maintain some semblance of control.

She settled down on the sofa, a comfortable distance away from Mal. It would be so easy for her to scoot over and sit right next to him, but she wasn’t sure whether that would be right.

Mal waved a sheet of paper in front of her nose. “I wanted you to see this.”

Her first thought was that it was some kind of letter of notice, that he didn’t want her there anymore, particularly after what she had said over dinner. She took it from him and her eyes scanned over the handwritten words. As she read, she knew that he wasn’t trying to get rid of her. If she was reading it correctly, it was quite the opposite.

“What is this?” she asked, her tone soft. She tried to meet his eyes, but he looked away, his cheeks flushed as he fiddled with the stem of his glass.

“Do you like it?” His tone was tentative.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Just like the person I wrote it about.”

Now it was Piper’s turn to look away. She might have misunderstood what the song meant, but when Mal’s hands reached for hers, she knew she hadn’t. He pulled her closer toward him, until his lips hovered just inches from hers.

“There’s no going back if I kiss you now,” he said.

“I don’t want to go back…”