“You’re cooking?” There’s a hint of surprise in her tone. “Yes,” I say. She’s standing by the kitchen island, dressed in workout clothes and some kind of teddy jacket. Her face is clean of makeup and ponytail in her hair. Beautiful. “Does that come as a surprise?” “I don’t want to offend you, but… yes. Kind of.” I look down at the pancake I’m flipping. This is enough. This is the boundary I need to tread. Friendly, companionable, professional conversation. “You know, there are a lot of talents I haven’t shown you,” I say. Fuck. Didn’t take long to step over that line. She chuckles, and the
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