Having Jacob in her kitchen was surreal.

His Bolognese sauce was to die for, and the lasagna he’d cobbled together was maybe the best she’d ever had.

And beneath the table, he’d nudged his foot right next to hers. Touching without really touching.

“Where’d you learn to cook?” she asked, dragging a chunk of crescent roll through the sauce on her plate.

“Things weren’t so great growing up. My dad was gone a lot, and sometimes Mom checked out. There was always money for groceries but sometimes she’d forget to buy them, y’know?”

She hadn’t known.

“By the time Hank and I got to high school, we were sick of Chef Boyardee and Hamburger Helper. We decided to trade off weeks. I’d cook and he’d do the dishes or vice versa.” He pointed to the pan still on the stove. “That recipe was handed down from my grandma on my dad’s side.”

“It’s excellent.”

“Thanks.” His smile was easy but shifted into something else as he watched her face. “What is it? The wheels in your head are turning, I can tell.”

She used her thumb to sop up the rest of the sauce now. His eyes tracked her every movement as she stuck her thumb in her mouth and then gave a quick lick. She settled both hands in her lap.

“You’re very observant. Hazard of the job?”

He nodded but didn’t elaborate. He was still waiting for her answer.

She sighed. “I didn’t know any of that. Back then. In high school.”

“No one did.” She caught a little self-disgust aimed at himself. “Hank and I were good at keeping it hidden. We didn’t want anyone to know how bad things were at home.”

Both Jacob and she had had it tough during those pivotal years, but Jacob had been well-liked, popular, and captain of the football team. He’d been surrounded by friends, while she’d been a loner.

And every once in a while, he’d used her circumstances to get a laugh from his friends.

She stood, picked up her plate and fork. She couldn’t hold his gaze when she thought about those times.

But he didn’t stay seated at the table. He got up, plate in hand, and joined her at the counter.

“It wasn’t fair,” he said quietly.

No, it hadn’t been. “It was a long time ago.” She turned on the faucet.

And he promptly turned it off. He touched her hand. One finger, one gentle swipe across the back of her hand. Goosebumps rose up the length of her arm.

“Just because it was years ago doesn’t mean it’s forgotten. I’m sorry for being such a jerk back then.”

Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t move her hand from beneath his touch. Prickles of awareness made her jaw ache on both sides.

“Thank you for your apology. But it doesn’t bother me anymore. We all did stupid things back then.”

On the counter, his hand closed over hers.

“I don’t remember you performing any stupid stunts.”

“I was smart enough to wait until there was no one watching.”

He smiled that lethal smile, and she became aware of exactly how close they were standing. Almost shoulder to shoulder.

If he turned toward her, or she turned toward him, they would be within kissing distance.

She saw the awareness enter his eyes. His gaze slipped down to her mouth and then glanced back up.

He was thinking about it too.

Kissing her.

Wasn’t kissing on the first date a no-no?

And then he smiled a little sheepishly and let go of her hand. He turned the faucet back on, rinsing his plate and then reaching for hers.

“That’s how I remember you,” he said. “Quiet and smart. I think you would’ve liked my wife.”

He scrubbed the plate vigorously.

And she stood there dumbfounded. What was she supposed to say to that?

He spoke again without looking up. “I was nervous about coming here tonight. I haven’t dated since Amber died.”

She went to the table and fetched the casserole dish he’d served from. Opened the drawer and took out the tin foil. She was definitely having leftovers tomorrow. “You didn’t seem nervous.”

He loaded the rinsed dishes into the dishwasher. “Didn’t I? Maybe I liked it that you needed me. I haven’t been needed in a long time.”

And then she closed the refrigerator door, and he closed the dishwasher door, and that was it. She could wipe the crumbs off the table later.

They stood staring at each other. He leaned back against the counter, his hands on either side of his hips.

“Tell me how you got into writing.”

She shrugged and looked down at the tabletop. “I’ve always loved books.”

He smiled. “So did Amber, but she never tried to write one.”

“I like writing. Creating something out of nothing.”

His eyes sparked. “Tell me about this Will Jacobs guy.”

Heat flared in her face. “I thought you read his book.”

“I did. I want to know why he sounds like me.”

She couldn’t look at him now. She’d started to trust him. She didn’t really think he was asking to poke fun at her.

But it was awfully hard to admit.

She pressed her forefinger into a crumb. Kept mashing it into the table. “I might’ve had a crush on you back in high school.”

She dared a glance at him. He was holding in a grin, but she could still see it fighting to escape.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “It was a very minor crush. Barely a blip.”

His grin started to widen. “And yet I made it into one of your books.”

She hiked her chin. “That wasn’t you. That was a fictional character.”

He advanced on her. And since Gram’s kitchen was tiny, it only took two steps for him to reach her. “Named Will Jacobs?”

“Will Jacobs would’ve kissed me. Before.”

He reached for her, his hands settling on her waist. All traces of his smile were gone now. “You’re right. I’m not a fictional character. I told you I was nervous.”

She felt it in the tremble of his hands against her.

“Don’t kiss me just because I was teasing you,” she said softly.

She couldn’t imagine how incredibly difficult it was for him. Holding the first woman after Amber.

“I’m not.”

And then he dipped his head and brushed her mouth with his.