CHAPTER THIRTEEN

NOLAN POV

I felt like a terrible person and fucking pervert. It was okay to be attracted to a woman I didn't know. But it was completely different to want a woman after finding out she was my own daughter's friend.

I looked at Gwen sitting on the small couch by the window. The snow was falling outside, and her shape against the light made her look like a beautiful Goddess. My desire for her was strong.

Luckily, the fact that she was April’s friend would stop me from trying anything again. Even so, the strong wish to touch her again was annoying. I don't usually want a woman a second time. It felt strange that I would have Gwen in my bed right now if she wasn't April’s friend.

But since that wasn't an option, and my body didn't seem to understand the rules, staying away from her would have been the best choice. But I had promised April I would take care of her friend. It would be rude to cook a meal and not offer some to Gwen.

Down in the kitchen, I kept busy. I cut the vegetables and cooked sausage with them while I waited for the water to boil for the rice. I am not a great cook, but I find it relaxing. I focused on making the meal, letting it help calm my mind.

About twenty minutes later, Gwen came into the kitchen. "Can I help with anything?" she asked.

Seeing her again snapped me out of my calm mood. She was wearing jeans that fit her shape well and a simple black sweater over a white T-shirt that hugged her body. Her dark, wavy hair was tied up in a loose bun on top of her head.

'She's April’s friend. She's April’s friend.' I kept repeating this in my mind like a prayer to stop myself from picking her up and placing her on the table to fuck her right there.

"You can set the table. The plates and forks are in the cupboard over there," I said, pointing to the part of the kitchen where we keep our eating tools.

She walked over to the area, and I had to hold back a sound of desire as she turned her back to me, showing off her great, curvy backside. I was surely going to go to hell for these thoughts.

I asked her to bring me the large plate, and I put the fried rice and sweet honey chicken on both our plates. I gave her a bowl and carried mine to the table. I grabbed a bottle of red wine, two wine glasses, and a tool to open the bottle. I brought them all to the table. For a moment, I wondered if offering alcohol was a bad idea, but it was just red wine. She seemed just as nervous about our connection through April as I was, so I thought it would be fine.

"I didn’t make a side dish or anything," I said. "But the vegetables—the peppers and everything—are good. When April was little, she wouldn't eat them, so I always had to cut them very, very small and hide them in her food."

She gave me a nice, genuine smile. "She still doesn't eat many vegetables."

I popped the cork out of the wine bottle and poured us both a glass. Then I sat down at the table. She put her spoon into her fried rice, took a large bite, and quickly grabbed her napkin to stop from making a mess.

"Do you cook?" I asked as I slowly drank my wine. I wondered if she would remember it was the same wine she had the other night.

She swallowed her food. "I cook a little. When my mom died, I ended up doing most of the cooking. My dad took her death very badly."

Hearing this made me feel something different inside. Last night, I only saw her as someone I wanted to have sex with. Tonight, I saw her as my daughter's friend. But learning that her mother died and that she had to take over those duties started to turn her into a real person in my mind. Not that she wasn't a person before, but I had put her into boxes in my head. Now those boxes were starting to break down.

"I used to make fried rice a lot, too," she admitted. "But please don't be shocked. I used canned vegetables from a jar."

I put my hand over my chest and pretended to have a heart attack. "Oh no! Tell me that's not true!"

Her lips curved into a small smile as she picked up her wine. "I was only ten years old back then. By the time I was fifteen, I started adding fresh vegetables, but it still wasn't as good as this."

Wow, her mother died when she was ten? No wonder she seemed so strong. She was just a kid who had to take on adult jobs.

April wasn't very old when her mother and I split up, but April never had to take on adult roles in our family. Some people might say she was spoiled, and I couldn't disagree with that, but she is the most important thing in my world. I tried to be both her mother and father, especially when her mother stopped visiting her often after I won custody. Both girls grew up without a mother nearby, but I think Gwen's situation was much harder because her mother was gone forever, and Gwen had to become the adult in the house.

"This is really good, Nolan," Gwen said after taking another bite. "How long have you been making this recipe?"

"For a long time," I replied, taking a sip of the deep red wine. "It was the first 'fancy' dish I learned to make after April’s mom left. I wanted April to feel like she wasn't missing anything, even if it was just a simple meal. But it had to be a dish that was easy to hide tiny vegetables in," I added with a slight smile.

Gwen laughed, a warm, soft sound. "That is so sweet. I can see why April loves it so much. My dad never really cooked after Mom passed. It was mostly fast food or me trying to make simple things. We were just focused on getting through the day." She paused, looking down at her food. "It must have been hard for you, too. Being a single dad, I mean."

"It was," I agreed, watching her face. "But April made it easy. She’s a good kid. And the cooking... like I said, I find it calming. It gave me something to focus on besides the changes in our lives." I pushed my bowl aside a little. "I'll give you the recipe if you like."

"I’d be afraid I couldn't do it justice," she said, picking up her wine glass again. She took a sip, and her eyebrows went up in surprise. "Is this the same wine from last night?"

I nodded, feeling a small amount of happiness that she remembered, but that feeling was quickly followed by worry. She might think it meant something special. Like I was hoping to bring back the feeling of last night. Which, of course, I was, but I absolutely would not act on that wish.