Chapter two

DINNER AT MY PLACE

The moment Snow and I step back into the apartment, she wiggles out of my arms and darts straight to the kitchen like she’s been fasting for forty-eight dramatic hours.

“I know, calm down,” I laugh, dropping the grocery bags on the counter.

She circles my ankles nonstop, brushing her fluffy tail against my legs in a wild plea for food.

“Fine. Snow first. Always Snow.”

I open a can of her new gourmet tuna—because of course she only eats the expensive kind—and pour it into her bowl.

Snow throws her whole face into the food like she hasn’t tasted life in decades.

“That’s my girl,” I murmur, watching her inhale it.

With Snow satisfied, my attention shifts to the clock.

Two hours until dinner with Sam.

My stomach tightens, not with nerves, but excitement. Food and maybe finally… satisfaction.

It’s been too damn long.

I tie my hair up, wash my hands, and start prepping for dinner.

Chicken breast on the cutting board.

Garlic, fresh peppers, a jar of thick tomato base, cream, and butter.

Seasonings that promise sin.

I chop the chicken into neat strips, letting the rhythm calm the restless energy in my body. The kitchen fills with the soothing sound of sizzling oil when I toss the chicken in. The smell rises instantly—rich, buttery, garlicky.

I add peppers, onions, and pour in the tomato sauce.

A swirl of cream. A touch of heat.

A little sweetness.

The mixture thickens slowly, bubbling like it knows it’s being made for a night that might not end with dinner alone.

I catch myself smiling.

I don’t smile much, not genuinely, not often, but something about tonight feels different. Maybe it’s the way Sam looked at me like I wasn’t a quick fantasy but a slow burn he fully intended to savor.

Or maybe it’s just the thrill of being wanted by someone fine as hell.

I turn the heat down and taste the sauce with a spoon.

“Mmm. Perfect.”

Snow lifts her head with a soft chirp, her mouth stained lightly with tuna.

“Don’t judge me,” I say, licking the sauce from my lip. “I deserve one thing that tastes better than disappointment.”

Snow blinks at me like she agrees.

The apartment is warm, dimly lit, cozy. Exactly the right atmosphere for a dinner that might turn into… more.

I set the table: two plates, two wine glasses, a candle—why not? Let the night look better than most of my decisions.

I step back and admire everything.

This looks like a normal night.

A wholesome night.

A night for a woman who doesn’t ruin herself with reckless decisions.

But then again… I’m not normal.

And wholesome isn’t in my dictionary.

I wipe my hands on a towel, check myself in the mirror. My soft outfit hugs me in the right places, my hair falls loosely around my shoulders, and my skin glows from the shower.

Good. Good enough to be eaten.

The clock ticks.

Snow naps on the rug.

The sauce simmers softly on the stove.

And as I pour a glass of wine and take a slow sip, a knock echoes at the door—low, firm, confident.

My pulse jumps.

Sam is here.

And I’m suddenly very sure dinner won’t be the only thing getting devoured tonight.

The knock comes again, three slow taps that vibrate through my spine.

I smooth my hoodie, clear my throat, and open the door.

There he is.

Sam.

God… he’s even more devastating up close.

He stands tall in my doorway, wearing a fitted black tee that hugs his chest and a clean, effortless grin that looks like sin pretending to be innocent. His eyes sweep over me once slowly, intentionally like he’s taking mental ownership of every inch.

“Hello gorgeous ,” he murmurs. “

I almost roll my eyes, but the compliment hits my blood like heat.

“Get in here before Snow escapes,” I say, stepping aside.

He walks in, his scent trailing behind him warm, masculine, a little expensive.

Snow trots over immediately, her tail high, acting like she invited him personally.

“Oh, so she likes you now,” I mumble.

Sam kneels and rubs Snow’s chin. “I’m honored.”

Snow purrs. Traitor.

I head to the kitchen and lift the lid from the pan. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

He joins me, leaning against the counter. “Smells incredible.”

His voice is smooth, deep, but not pushy. Not overeager. He’s calm in a way that feels… practiced. Controlled.

I stir the sauce, and his gaze follows the movement of my wrist, my hips, my throat when I swallow. He watches everything without shame. And it sends a slow thrill through me.

“You do this for all your dinner guests?” he asks.

I snort. “I barely have guests. Snow is my only regular visitor.”

“And lucky me,” he says softly.

The way he says it—low, warm—makes the air thicken.

I take the sauce off the heat and plate the meals.

Sam sets the table without being asked.

He’s polite.

Helpful.

Dangerous in that calm, controlled way that hints he’s hiding something under all that charm.

We sit.

Clink glasses.

Taste the food.

“Mmm,” he groans. “This is incredible.”

His groan is borderline erotic and my fork almost slips out of my hand.

“Calm down,” I tease. “It’s chicken, not a religious experience.”

He smirks, leaning back. “I’m just expressive.”

“Noted.”

We talk—about nothing, everything. He asks little questions about my job, my cat, my schedule. Not nosy… just attentive.

But there’s a moment where he looks at me, really looks, and something shifts.

“Do you always invite strangers over?” he asks lightly.

“No,” I answer honestly. “I don’t even remember most strangers.”

His jaw flexes. Almost imperceptibly.

“And me?” he asks. “Will you remember me?”

His voice dips like he’s testing something inside me.

My pulse jumps.

Snow interrupts by hopping on the table and trying to steal a piece of chicken.

“Snow!” I gasp.

Sam laughs, deep and warm—and gently picks her up. “She’s bold.”

“She’s rude,” I correct.

“She gets it from her owner,” he says, eyes glinting at me.

I try to act unbothered, but my thighs press together under the table.

After dinner, I bring our plates to the sink, and Sam steps behind me, close enough that his breath grazes the back of my neck.

Not touching.

Not saying a word.

Just there.

He lowers his head slightly, voice rumbling near my ear.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

A shiver crawls down my spine.

I turn around slowly, my back pressing against the counter. He places one hand beside my hip, trapping me, without touching, without forcing. Just waiting.