The sound of metal pots and pans banging together could be heard from the dish room at the end of the kitchen. Michael stood next to McKenna and Anna who were both slipping on cooking jackets. They each had their hair pulled up, and Michael couldn’t help it when his gaze fell to the soft lines of Anna’s neck.

He clenched his fists, and turned to Sam who was watching one of the chefs next to him stir something in a bowl.

“How’s your room?” he asked. Truth was, he was not extremely interested in what Sam had to say, but right now, he needed a distraction. Anything to keep his attention away from Anna.

Sam shrugged. “It’s nice, though McKenna banished me to the couch. She said that I made her nauseous when I turned throughout the night.”

Michael nodded. Good, this conversation was just what he needed. “That’s strange. Kenna has always had a stomach like a rock of steel.”

“She thinks something happened on the plane, and now everything makes her feel sick.” Sam shuddered. “I just hope I don’t catch whatever it is.”

Anna was walking McKenna around and showing her all the different kitchen supplies, so Michael took this time to finally have a heart to heart with his brother in law. After all, that’s what he should be focusing on. Not his growing attraction for Anna.

“So, what’s the deal? I’ve heard McKenna’s side of things but not yours.” He leaned against the counter and folded his arms.

Sam’s gazed snapped over to him and then back to the chef. “I—um. It’s complicated.”

Michael straightened. “It’s not though. As long as you haven’t cheated on my sister, whatever is happening between the two of you can be fixed.”

Sam cleared his throat and shifted. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s start simple. You haven’t cheated on my sister, right?”

Sam shook his head. “Of course not.”

A wave of relief washed over Michael. That’s what he wanted to hear. “Good. I didn’t want to have to pummel you because you cheated. I’m not sure what Bora Bora’s extradition policy is.”

An uneasy look passed over Sam’s face as he forced a chuckle.

“Okay. Since it’s not cheating, what is it man? Is it the baby thing?”

The look in Sam’s eyes told Michael, that was it. Sam’s skin paled and he dropped his gaze to the ground.

Michael felt like he should say something. Reassure his brother in law that he could do this. “It’s not the end of the world. There’s always adoption.” He reached out his hand and rested it on Sam’s arm. It felt strange, but he forced himself to keep it there.

Sam stared down at Michael’s fingers and then up to his face. “I don’t know. That wasn’t what McKenna’s dream has been. I don’t even know if I’m part of that dream anymore.”

Michael opened his lips to say something, but then closed them. How was he supposed to advise his family on something that he himself was struggling with? Relationships were a mystery that it seemed he could never solve.

“Listen, all I know is pulling away isn’t the solution either. You need to face these issues head on. You can fix what’s broken. You just need to try.” His words echoed in his ears as he dropped his hand and shoved them into his front pockets.

Why was he even talking? He was telling Sam to not do the very thing he had done. Running away from New York—from Daisy—was probably the stupidest decision he’d ever made. Why did he think avoidance was the solution to all his problems? If anything, it just created more.

Sam nodded and shrugged, turning his attention over to the chef who had clapped his hands like a school teacher. Anna and McKenna made their way over and stood next to Michael.

Grateful for the distraction, Michael leaned over and nudged Anna with his shoulder. “You’re back,” he said, giving her a smile.

Anna pinched her lips together and nodded.

“You’re like a moth to a flame,” he whispered.

“Excuse me,” the sous chef said in a deep French accent.

Michael turned to see the man staring him down. “Yes?” Michael said, snapping to attention.

“It is important that you listen to our directions,” he said, emphasizing his words with a jab of his finger.

Michael held up his hands and nodded. “Of course. I apologize.”

The man gave him a final pointed look and then went on to introduce himself as Pierre. Once he started talking about the difference between a hollandaise and a béarnaise sauce, Michael tuned out.

Watching Anna nod and smile as she studied the sous chef, captivated his attention. She looked so serious as she jotted a few notes down on the pad of paper that Pierre had supplied her with.

“What are you writing?” Michael asked, nudging her with his elbow and peeking over her shoulder to see her notes.

The pad of paper flew to Anna’s chest as she narrowed her eyes. “No cheating,” she whispered.

Michael widened his eyes. “Cheating? It’s called marriage. What’s yours is mine.” He shifted around, trying to get a look at her paper.

She chuckled. “That’s for a real marriage. This, honey, is a fake one. Those rules don’t apply.”

Michael plastered on a hurt expression as he brought his hand to his heart. “That’s no way to talk to the husband that you swore to love your entire life.”

Pierre cleared his throat, and Michael turned to see his glare. “Perhaps, Mr. Michael would like to give us a demonstration as he seems so confident in his cooking ability that he feels that it is not important to pay attention.”

Pierre waved his hand at the stove and continued to stare Michael down.

“Me?” Michael pointed to his chest. “You want me to cook?”

“Unless you feel that this is a task you cannot do.” Pierre’s accent did not hide the challenge to his words.

Michael was never one to back down from anything. “I can cook. I’ll make whatever you want. Scratch that”—Michael held up his pointer finger—“I’ll make double of whatever it is that you want.”

Pierre’s eyebrows went up. “You will demonstrate a hollandaise and a béarnaise sauce?”

Michael swallowed. “Yes,” he said and then cleared his throat.

Pierre grabbed two sauce pans and set them on the stove. “Very well. I’m excited to watch you work.” He waved at McKenna and Sam. “Feel free to get started. I have a very strong feeling that we will not be eating for a while.”

McKenna nodded. She looked uncertain as she brought her gaze over to Michael. He shot her a confident smile. Maybe this would be a good thing. If the pressure was taken off of McKenna and put on him, maybe she would let her guard down enough to be vulnerable. Right now, that seemed like the first step in getting her and Sam to talk.

Pierre led them over to a stove on the far end of the kitchen, so Michael turned and glanced down at Anna. She was studying the ingredients laid out in front of them. Her brows pushed together as she chewed her lip.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked. He was ready to focus on something other than his sister’s failing marriage. Or how to fix it, when he couldn’t even solve his own problems.

“I don’t know how to make any of this,” she said as she sighed and blew a strand of hair from her face.

Michael shrugged. “We can figure this out. It can’t be that hard.”

“Are you going to start?” Pierre asked from behind them.

Michael turned and nodded. “Of course. We’re just doing the pre-cooking stretch.”

Pierre’s manicured eyebrows rose. “Pre-cooking stretch?”

“Um, yeah.” Michael smiled at him. “Only after it, can I work the magic.”

Pierre nodded and then turned, muttering “American,” under his breath.

When he turned back to Anna, she saw him staring at her.

“What?” he asked.

“Why are you being so weird?” She grabbed the notecard on the counter and started reading it.

“How am I being weird?” he asked.

She brought her gaze up to meet his and then moved to grab a few of what looked like tiny purple onions. She held them in her hand as she continued studying the card.

“Well, you’re acting strange about Javier and now Pierre. Are you jealous of foreign guys?” She put the card down and picked up a knife and cut into the onion thing.

Michael leaned his hip against the counter and watched her as she peeled off the skin. “What are you doing?” he asked, hoping that turning the attention to her would help dispel the feeling of awkwardness that had settled in his gut.

“These are shallots. We need to chop and sauté them.” She glanced over at him. “I thought you were this cooking guru. You seemed confident enough to commit us to making two sauces.”

He shot her a sheepish look as he picked up a shallot and started copying her. He hadn’t meant to do that. Sometimes situations just got away from him. “Yeah, sorry.”

Anna shrugged. “I’m used to it. You can be rash when it comes to decisions you make.”

He wanted to respond. To tell her that it wasn’t true. But the more he thought about it, the truer it became. He was rash. He’d always been. It was his lack of thinking things through that had gotten him into the Daisy situation.

“I’m sorry,” Anna said. Her tone had softened.

He glanced over at her. What did she have to apologize for? He was the idiot, not her. “Don’t say you’re sorry when you’re right.” He pushed the knife into the shallot, and it clinked when he hit the cutting board. After both ends were off, he peeled the skin. The shallot was tiny.

Anna was watching him when he glanced back up. She shrugged and returned to dicing. “Well, I could be nicer about it.”

“Yeah. You could. But sometimes us boneheaded men wouldn’t pick up on that.”

She giggled as she dumped the shallot pieces into a bowl. She was quiet, so he peeked over at her. There was a contorted look on her face as she stared at the pieces he was cutting.

“Am I doing this wrong?” he asked, glancing down at the mangled mess on his cutting board.

“No,” she said and then shook her head. “I mean, yes. You’re pulverizing that poor shallot.”

She moved over to him and grabbed onto his hand. “You need to cut it so the pieces are uniform.” She glanced back at him, and her expression was serious, like she felt the zaps of electricity that raced up his skin from her touch.

“Uniform?” he asked. He swallowed, hoping it would return his voice to normal.

“Yes. This piece?” She held up a section that was the size of half his pinkie finger. “It’s too big.” She brought it back down to the cutting board. Then she reached over and touched his hand.

He tried to ignore how good it felt to have her standing so close to his body. To feel her warmth cascade over him. He knew that he should step back. But he was finding it hard to do that when every part of him ached to hold her.

As much as he wanted to enjoy the feeling of her pressed against him, he couldn’t. So he dropped the knife onto the counter and then took a step to the side. “Show me, Ms. Picky.” Joking seemed about the only thing he knew how to do.

Anna’s eyebrows rose as her gaze met his. After a moment, she picked up the knife. And began cutting the shallots. Michael busied himself by reading the recipe card in front of him.

Every so often, he glanced over to McKenna and Sam who seemed to be working together. He detected a few stolen glances and hopeful smiles as they chopped and sautéed together.

He felt happy for his sister. She deserved this. Even though they were both hurting inside, he knew that they wanted to work on their marriage. That they weren’t going to give up—no matter how much hurt they needed to work through.

Anna was pushing the shallots around in the pan when he glanced over at her. In many ways, this was how he felt about Anna.

She was important to him. She always would be. And as hard as it was to be next to her—feeling her close and not being allowed to do anything about it—she was his friend.

He wasn’t going to push her away no matter how much he wanted to. She deserved better than that.