Reckless Again (BWWM)

6. Invasion of Privacy

*Steamy scene at the end*

***

I pushed my front door open later than usual Tuesday evening.

Feeling like a zombie, I shuffled into my house and locked the door behind me but stopped dead in my tracks when I smelled the overwhelming aroma of something cooking, something good.

This wouldn't have been alarming if Elaina could cook. But Elaina Jones couldn't cook for shit. When she'd offer to cook, I'd joke that we'd have to call the fire department in advance in case of an emergency.

She'd either end up forgetting about it and burning the food or adding too much or not enough of an ingredient. Either way, she was not gifted in the kitchen department.

Then it dawned on me that I hadn't even seen her car in the driveway.

My blood ran cold at the thought of someone breaking into my house.

I didn't know which was worse, the breaking and entering or the breaking and entering in order to cook a meal in my house.

I very cautiously padded down the hall past my stairs and into the entryway of the kitchen and nearly had heart failure when I saw Jonas' back turned to me as he stood in front of my stove.

Somehow, he hadn't sensed my presence yet. I took that time to watch his muscles move and contract as he continued to cook whatever it was he was cooking. I let my eyes wander from gray beanie to his broad shoulders to his slim waist until they stopped on his firm behind covered in black sweatpants. Whether he was wearing underwear underneath or not was something I found myself longing to find out.

Suddenly, being outside in the forty degree weather seemed a whole lot more appealing than being in my tiny kitchen with my ex-boyfriend from high school.

I slid out of my jacket and dropped it on the floor along with my purse. The sound of my belongings hitting the ground was loud enough to make Jonas freeze and slowly turn around.

"I hope you realize breaking and entering is a serious crime."

Our eyes met for a split second, but it felt like an eternity before he looked away.

He turned off the stove, got two plates from my cupboard, and set them down on the table. "Is that so?"

When did he get so comfortable with my kitchen?

"Yes, that is so. And how the hell did you get in here?"

He wordlessly brought each pan to the table and sat down, ignoring my question. "I cooked your favorite."

I curiously surveyed the table and grimaced when my stomach growled obnoxiously loud.

He'd cooked baked salmon with a vegetable medley, baby potatoes and brown rice. It was still my favorite even after all these years, and it all looked so good.

I remembered Jonas learning how to make it for Valentine's day when we were together instead of taking me out to eat. I always preferred to stay home with him anyway because it felt much more private, more intimate.

It warmed my heart to know that he still remembered. But it also made me sad because he wasn't mine to keep anymore.

I lifted my chin, stubbornly. "You have no idea what my favorite is anymore."

He filled his plate with a piece of salmon and a spoonful of vegetables and rice and began eating. "Have a seat."

I sat down. "How'd you get in here?"