‘I could make you pancakes, I suppose.’ ‘You can cook?’ He scoffs. ‘How hard can it be?’ God, this man makes me laugh! ‘That wasn’t a yes. Do you even have the right ingredients?’ I really would like some pancakes right now. ‘We might not do pasta on pizza, sweetheart,’ my stomach flips at the term of endearment, ‘but I’m pretty sure every house in Ireland has eggs and flour,’ he says wryly. ‘Ah ha!’ I lurch forward in my seat. ‘But do you have the main ingredient?’ ‘Which is?’ ‘Maple Syrup, of course!’ I slap his leg before I can stop myself. The sensation of his thick muscular quad beneath
...more
