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be. Her entire pantry at her apartment consisted of two cans of tuna, a few packets of Crystal Light lemonade, and menus for all the takeout places within a one-mile radius. But for now, she needed to make nice with Nate Brody, present the offer, get the deal done, and get gone.
    “ So,” Nate said, his head deep in the open refrigerator. “How do you feel about goat cheese in your omelet?”
    “ Very good,” she said. “I feel like I should offer to help, but I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”
    “ Everyone says that,” he said, his head still in the fridge, “but they’re never as bad as they think they are.” He popped up, arms full with a hunk of cheese in Saran Wrap, a clear plastic package containing six brown eggs, and something green and leafy. He shut the fridge door with a quick kick.
    “ No, no, I’m as bad as I think I am,” Freya said. “I once set a pot of boiling water on fire.” He stopped and looked at her, and she held up her hand in an oath. “Scout’s honor, I’m useless in the kitchen.”
    “ Oh, well. Now you just sealed your own fate.” Nate unloaded his ingredients onto the counter, then reached behind him and grabbed another apron off the wall. He tossed it at her and she barely managed to catch it before it hit her in the face.
    “ And what am I supposed to do with this?” she asked.
    “ Put it on. You’re cooking breakfast.”
    She laughed out loud and threw the apron back at him. “Funny.”
    He tossed it back, eyebrows raising in challenge. “Not kidding.”
    She watched him for a bit, decided he was serious, and stood up to show off her suit. “This is Ann Taylor.”
    “ Hence the apron.”
    He walked over to her, expertly slid the jacket off her shoulders and laid it on the stool next to her. Then he grabbed the apron and slid his arms around her waist.
    “I’m not sure…” she said, feeling oddly out of breath with him so close. He smelled like the hot shower he’d just stepped out of, and it was making her a little dizzy. “I… um… oh!” she said as he cinched the apron tightly around her waist and tied it, his hands floating over her body expertly, making her flush a bit at the sudden odd intimacy. “I… don’t…”
    “ Yeah?” he said, then he took her left arm, undid the button at her wrist and began rolling up her blouse sleeve. “You got a full sentence in there somewhere?”
    She didn ’t. His movements were strong, confident, professional, and her skin was starting to feel hot as his hands worked over her. He finished with her right sleeve, then stood back and took her in.
    “ Perfect,” he said, his eyes raising to meet hers. He swallowed quickly then stepped back, motioning toward the stove in invitation.
    Freya hesitated. “You’re serious?”
    “ Yep.”
    “ Look, I’m not being modest. I really can’t cook.”
    “ People think they can’t cook because they burned one meal and quit.” He jerked his head toward the stove. “I’ll watch over you the whole time, tell you exactly what to do.” He met her eye again. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
    “ I’m not afraid,” Freya said.
    He smiled. “Prove it.”
    She stared at him for a moment, then decided to concede. It’d soften him up for negotiations later, presuming she didn’t burn the house down, which was a minimal risk if he was right there watching over her.
    “ All right.” She popped one last grape into her mouth and scooted around the breakfast bar into the kitchen.
    She stopped in front of the stove and he angled himself behind her, close enough that she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. He pointed to a knob on the stove. “Turn that to medium.”
    Freya reached tentatively toward the knob and turned it. It clicked a few times, a sharp tang hit her nose, and then the gas hissed on, all flickery and blue. “Oooh, pretty.”
    “ Tell me you’ve seen a gas stove before.”
    “ Up close? No.”
    “ Hell ,” he said under his breath. He