Kyle woke with a start the next morning to the sound of pots banging. For a second, it had mirrored the sounds of war in his dreams. His heart raced as he rolled out of bed and into a catlike position on the floor, ready to pounce.

The smell of bacon wafted through the air, and he relaxed, realizing Kennedy must be cooking. Taking no thought as to how he looked, he rushed out of his room, straight to the kitchen. He didn’t want her to have to cook for him today. This was her trip.

He got to the living room and saw her next to the stove. She was manning the bacon, using a fork to turn a piece. He stopped and sucked in a breath. Kennedy was a little mussed herself. Her hair was disheveled, and she wore what looked like pajamas shorts with surfboards on them.

There was a song playing, and she started to sing. “Going home, going ho-ome, that’s right. I’m going home.”

It startled him, how rich and beautiful and clear her voice was. He waited, wanting to hear more.

“The time was never right, the place was never there; all I could think about was you and how to fill this hole inside of me. This hole inside of me.” Gently, she swayed with the music.

Kyle awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other. This felt like a personal moment, and watching and listening to her seemed intrusive, but he pull himself away.

“Going home, going ho-ome, that’s right. I’m going home.”

Taking his time, he sauntered into the kitchen and sneaked up behind her. “Hey, no working this weekend.”

She jumped and swiveled around. “Hey.”

“You’re with a prince. No working.” He tried to take the fork from her.

“No.” She batted him away. “I got this.”

All he could do was give her a stupid grin. What he really wanted to lean in and get a whiff of that lemon scent, but he held off. He also wanted to demand she sing more for him.

Slow, he commanded himself. After those kisses yesterday, it’d been hard to let her out of his arms before bed. This girl was different. He respected that.

She put her hand up to block her view of him. “Would you put a shirt on, please?”

Kyle snickered. “Are you serious?”

She scowled and tended the bacon. “I’m serious.”

“I know. It’s just, I don’t think any woman has ever asked me to put my shirt back on.”

She grunted. “Did I mention how humble you are, too?”

He stood there, unable to resist this quiet chemistry that pulsed between them. Reaching out, he grabbed a piece of bacon out of the pan, but burned himself. “Ouch!” He dropped it on the floor.

“Ugh.” She shook her head. “Wasteful.”

He had already bent to pick it up. “No worries.” He grabbed it and popped it into his mouth. “Five-second rule.”

Her laughter rang through the kitchen. Sensing her relaxing, he tried to grab another piece.

She swatted his hand and pointed down the hall. “Shirt, please. And hurry, because I’m hungry.” Picking up the pan handle with her good hand, she moved to the counter.

Kyle rushed down the hall, loving that she was so pushy. He found himself really liking that she wanted boundaries. It was refreshing.

Grabbing a clean T-shirt out of his bag, he put it on. When he dashed back to the kitchen, he saw her pulling some plates out of the cupboard, and he took the plates out of her hand.

“Hey, I can do stuff.”

He grunted. “Remember, it’s not about thinking you can’t do stuff. It’s about—”

“Being a gentleman.” She gave him a brilliant smile.

“Exactly.” He put the plates down and reached into another cupboard for cups, then filled them at the fridge. He stared at the scrambled eggs and pancakes she’d added to the table. “This looks delicious.” He wondered about the past couple of women he’d dated. None of them had ever made him breakfast. Not that they’d been there in the morning. He took the glasses to the table and grabbed some silverware and napkins.

“So, your caretaker gets everything ready before you come here?” she asked.

He nodded, sensing that she found his money hard to handle.

She began putting items on her plate. Pancakes, bacon, and eggs. She picked up the syrup and gave herself a generous helping. He liked that too. That she ate. How many women did he know who ate like a bird?

“What?” she asked, and turned to meet his gaze.

“Nothing.” He picked up the plate of eggs and helped himself.

She waited for him to load his plate before picking up her fork.

“Can we say grace?” he asked.

“Oh.” She put her fork down. “Of course.”

He put his hands together, bowed his head, and said a quick prayer before they dug in. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked, wanting to know more about her beliefs.

She flashed him a grin. “I grew up in a Christian house, and we prayed over the food all the time. I just … it’s complicated.”

“Faith always is,” he said softly.

She waited and then closed her eyes.

As they ate, he couldn’t help but stare at her, and happy feelings rolled around inside of him.

“What?” she asked through a bite of pancake.

He wanted to tell her she was gorgeous. “The food is delicious,” he said quickly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She lifted and lowered a shoulder. “Thank you for bringing me. If I haven’t said it before now.”

“You haven’t,” he said softly, loving the fact she was sitting at his table looking so fresh and happy.

She rolled her eyes.

“And you’re welcome.” He wanted to know everything about her. He’d heard about the crash and her parents, but he wanted to know more. Slow, he reminded himself.

“So can I know what we’re doing next?”

Checking the time, he smiled at her. “Good thing you were ahead of me for breakfast, because we need to change, and you need to wear stuff you can hike in.”

“O-kay.”

“But to get to the hike, we have to take the helicopter.”

A look of pure delight washed over Kennedy’s face. “Are you serious?”

He laughed. “What did you say? I shouldn’t spend an absurd amount of money that should be donated elsewhere? Yep, get over it. That’s happening on this trip.”