“Ouch!” she cursed as she yelped and jumped back from the stove.

Michael scooted in front of her and turned the knob on the gas range. “You have to turn the heat down or the bacon grease will pop all over you and the stove.” Pointing with the spatula, he motioned her away. “Why don’t you chop some onion for the omelets.”

Pouting but secretly thankful to be out of the line of scalding hot grease, she sat at the kitchen island and began mincing.

“Any plans for the night?”

Sunday was Michael’s night off from the bar, which he typically treated more like a Saturday night, setting up Tinder dates or dressing nice and heading to the grocery store—yeah, the grocery store. He could pick up a woman anywhere, but a sweet, unassuming woman mulling over tomatoes was his weakness. And somehow, he was theirs. A perfect match. If only for a night.

“Nah, staying in tonight. Are you seeing Brecken?”

She shook her head. “No, he’s gone all week on business.”

“Oooh. So, that explains the perma frown on your face. The boyfriend is away.”

Michel crossed his arms over his chest, and a large grin broke out on his face. She stuck her tongue out at him but then smiled back, feeling giddy at the idea of Brecken being anything close to her boyfriend. “I don’t have perma frown, and he isn’t my boyfriend.”

“Is that what you tell yourself? Well, you can’t fib to me. You like Brecken. I can tell.”

“Of course, I like him, but I’ve only known him a week.”

“A week with someone like Brecken is the equivalent of six months of dating in the real world.”

He emptied the bacon from the pan onto a plate, and she slid the chopping board across the island. Michael scooped it up and added them to the leftover grease.

“This is the real world. My world. It’s only been a week.”

He worked quickly and efficiently in front of the stove, making her a bit jealous of his culinary skills. Hers were in the mediocre category, at best. Growing up without a mother and having a father who left anything outside of work to his very capable staff, meant she’d missed out on things like sitting around the kitchen, watching and learning how to make pies or flip a pancake.

Michael leaned against the counter and snatched a slice of bacon before eating half the strip in one bite. “A week in which you’ve seen him every single day. That isn’t how dating works in the real world, darlin’,” he mumbled around the food in his mouth.

“Okay, the situation is different, but it doesn’t change the fact that I barely know him.”

“Well, I know everything that Google knows about him, so fire away.”

“Nope. I’m not going down that rabbit hole.” She shook her head adamantly. “I know the type of journalism that gets splashed about for entertainment. I’m not torturing myself.”

“That seems naïve. If he were anyone else, you’d be checking out his social media pages and looking for any shred of information you could find. You do like Brecken.”

“I already admitted that. He’s different. He’s confident and a little prickly and he doesn’t seem to care what anyone thinks of him, but—”

“Ah, of course there’s a but.” Michael flipped the omelet and then grabbed two plates from the cabinet.

“I don’t want to be a part of that world. Business meetings, fundraisers, being recognized and noticed everywhere we go.”

“Okay, first of all he isn’t Prince Harry. Yes, within the confines of Denver, he’s a big deal, but outside of it, he’s just another rich, good-looking guy.”

“Fair point,” she conceded.

Michael slid her a plate and fork and took a seat across from her.

“He invited me to a dinner on Friday night with one of his business partners and his wife.”

“I’d say this like is mutual,” he said before shoveling a large forkful of food into his mouth.

“You don’t have any hesitation about me getting involved with him?”

Michael shrugged. “You don’t have to marry the guy. I’m just saying relax, enjoy getting to know him. Don’t rule him out before you see for yourself the type of man he is. Although, if you hit the three-month mark, then that’s practically married in Brecken’s world.”

Rolling her eyes, she stood, plate in hand, and followed Michael to the living room.

“Pretty Little Liars or 90210?”

She smirked at his serious and completely unembarrassed body language as he sat on the couch poised with the remote.

“You’re the only man I know who willingly watches either of those shows.”

“Not true. I’m just the only one willing to admit it. Plus, do you know how well my knowledge of these two shows works when breaking the ice on a first date? The panties practically take themselves off.”

She laughed, certain it was true. Michael had game. She’d seen it in action enough times to question the standards of her entire gender.

After three hours of 90210, she pried herself from the couch and walked sleepily toward her bed. She was sluggish and mopey, blaming it on too many late nights instead of the prospect of an entire week without Brecken, and then her phone vibrated on the nightstand. She felt her lips pull into a smile as his name displayed on the screen.

“Hi,” she answered, climbing into the middle of her bed.

“I can’t stop thinking about your tits. Now, before you hang up on me, I don’t usually spend my nights daydreaming about women’s breasts, but yours… yours are something worth fantasizing about.” His voice was smooth and relaxed and she covered her mouth to hold in the laugh.

“Are you in bed?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Mm-hmm. My sheets smell of sex and you.”

Leaning back against her pillow, she pictured him sprawled out in their sex sheets. “What time is your flight in the morning?”

“Six.”

“It’s after midnight. You should get some sleep.”

“So should you. Another big day at the ranch tomorrow. I left instructions with Edward to pick you up at the regular time this week.”

“Thanks.”

Silence buzzed between them, and she clung to the phone, greedy for more of his time.

“Whatcha wearing?” She smacked her free hand over her eyes and grimaced as the words escaped.

His deep chuckle flitted into her ear, turning her insides to goo. Ridiculous. She’d become ridiculous.

“I like to sleep in a t-shirt and pajama pants. The shirt is blue and the pants are gray.”

“That’s sort of a let down. Don’t you know that when someone asks what you’re wearing, you always lie. The only appropriate answers are naked or in some sort of lacey, sexy nightie.”

“Fine. What are you wearing then?”

“Well, my go-to response is a black silk nightgown, but in reality, I’m wearing cotton shorts and a tank top.”

“You’ve ruined my memory of every woman who has ever told me what she was wearing over the phone.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“What color are the shorts?”

Sliding under the covers she turned on her side and curled up with the phone pressed to her ear. “They’re white.”

“Mmm. And the tank top?” His voice was muffled and she imagined him turned on one side like she was.

“Pink.”

“I take it back. This visual makes up for all the others you’ve wrecked.”

A noisy yawn escaped her lips and his deep chuckle crossed the airway into her soul.

“Good night, January.”

“Night,” she whispered. She waited for the sound of the line disconnecting and then clutched the phone to her chest.