She's exhausted and tipsy as fuck, and I wish those two things didn't make her so damn adorable.

But… they do.

I didn't know I had a thing for quirky until Regina.

Gotta eat. Gotta cook. I try to reel my focus back.

I place a package of chicken along with some spinach and garlic on the counter.

"Can I help?" she asks.

"Nah, I'm good."

"You don't want a sous-chef?"

I imagine her standing beside me, peeling vegetables and slicing things up. Maybe I'm standing behind her, hands on her hips.

It's an image I quite like.

"Not Tonight. It's late, so I want to make something simple."

She yawns. "Okay, then if you don't mind, I'm going to head over to the sofa and rest a bit."

She's going to fall dead asleep, that's what she's going to do. I'd bet money on it.

I nod and gesture toward the living room. "Remote's on the table."

I toss olive oil, sliced onion, and garlic into a sizzling hot pan, as she puts the television on and flicks through the channels.

"No way! You have the old shows my grandma used to watch. How do you have the old shows?"

"It's a channel. Don't you have TV?"

She shakes her head. "I usually watch something on my iPad or just read."

Ah, she's a reader. Should've guessed that. I can easily imagine her trotting up to the library with an armful of books, or curling up on a porch swing, lost in the pages of a story.

Her running commentary amuses me.

"Shit, they started up that fucking bachelor show again?"

"Did they ever stop?"

She flicks on by. "Maybe not. But it's the stupidest reality TV show on the planet. I mean, I'd rather watch that show where they're naked and have to survive on an island."

"Yeah?" I toss seasoned chicken breasts in next, and the scent wafts through the rooms.

"Okay, the nuts didn't help."

"What?"

"The nuts. I ate your nuts, and they didn't help."

My gut clenches. What the fuck is she talking about?

I grab a handful of baby spinach as the water comes to a boil, then toss the pasta in.

"They just didn't fill me up."

What?

I look over at her as the food sizzles and simmers behind me.

Oh.

Oh.

I turn back to the stove, shaking my head at myself. I've had a hard-on for three solid hours, and apparently now I have the mind of a seventh grader.

"That smells delicious, by the way."

So do you.

"Thank you. Cooking relaxes me."

"Good thing you own a restaurant." She snorts at her own joke.

"What's your gripe with the bachelor show?" I ask. I'm very interested in her thoughts on dating, bachelors, and relationships.

I shouldn't be. I shouldn't give the slightest shit about what she thinks about those things.

"They're just so staged," she says, making a face like she's just taken a bite of a lemon. "Plus, they just parade these people around like it's a meat market."

"Fair."

"And the guys they pick for these shows, I mean, come on."

I stir the food. "What do you have against them?"

"They're just so… fake. Stereotypical." She shakes her head. "It's like those houses in gated communities, all cookie cutter and unidentifiable. They all look the Reginae."

I raise a brow at her. "Oh? Those houses are the bedrock of some communities, though. They have their benefits." I don't tell her I own several.

She shakes her head, leans back, and closes her eyes. She's definitely feeling the effects of her drinks.

"I just…" she yawns widely. "Need something a bit more substantial."

Are we talking about houses or men?

I turn back to the stove. "You do," I say, but I speak so low I'm not sure she hears me.

I finish cooking our simple meal, then plate it with a quick flourish of parmesan and freshly cracked pepper.

"Alright, dinner's up." I look over to see her yawning and stretching, but she opens her eyes and starts to push herself to standing.

"Stay there. I'll bring it to you."

"I don't want to get your sofa dirty," she says with a frown. "Not sure if you've noticed this, but I'm kind of a mess."

She's a perfect, brilliant mess.

"You're fine. Stay there."

I bring our plates out to her, and her eyes grow as big as saucers. "Okay, so this beats pizza."

"I wouldn't go that far."

She grins, taking the plate and fork I offer. Sitting cross-legged, she digs in.

"You're a pizza guy?"

"Isn't everyone a pizza guy? Or… girl?"

"Not everyone."

"There are, I suppose, heathens among us."

She grins around a large mouthful of pasta. "Suppose."

I'm more interested in watching her eat than I am in eating my own food. Damn, it's good to see a woman actually eat something for goddamn once.

"What kind of pizza do you like?" she asks.

I shrug. "Prefer the kind I make myself, but I love a good pizza from the North End."

"No way," she breathes, leaning in closer to me. "You make your own pizza?"

"I do. You might even say it's a hobby of mine." And one that might come in handy now that I have a kid to feed. My stomach plummets.

I have a kid to feed.

I never wanted this. I'd be a shit father, which translates to me being a shit father-figure, for however long this all lasts.

Her words are still a little slurred, but now that she's eating, she's perked up a bit. "I could really get into that. Homemade pizza. I bet Dany would like that, too."

"At least I know one thing kids like to eat." I hate this feeling, like I've been drop-kicked into a foreign country and I don't know the language or customs.

She watches me thoughtfully. "You really don't know anything about kids, do you?"

We're both done with our food. I stare at the empty plates, then take hers from her wordlessly, carrying it into the kitchen with mine. I load the dishwasher and don't answer at first.

"It's okay," she says. "I had a shitty childhood, too."

I frown, loading the dishwasher harder than I intended. Glasses ping, plates crash.

"Yeah." I am not talking about my childhood, and I have a sneaking suspicion this is her way of finding out about me. She thinks she's a detective or investigator or whatever the fuck? Well, I don't tell just anyone about my childhood. My family. My past.

I can't believe I kissed her. I can't believe I was fully prepared to take her to bed. She's dangerous, and I can't forget that.

There's a pause before she talks again. "What do you mean… yeah? Do you know things about me?"

I don't, but I also don't bother to deny it, because I'll know everything about her soon enough.

"Has nothing to do with that, but I'm not getting into talking about childhoods or whatever other bullshit you have in mind for your investigation."

She stands, hands on hips, a look of incredulity on her face. "Seriously? That's where your head went?"

"You can't trust people who investigate for… fun or whatever."

She narrows her eyes at me.

"Oh?" I sense danger.

I turn to face her, not afraid of the simmering heat below the surface. I can take her.

"Yeah. They ask questions. They pry. They don't know when to leave well enough alone."

I face her, daring her to contradict me.

"God forbid someone ask a question about your life, hmm?" she says thoughtfully. "How plebeian."

"It isn't that."

She gives me a frosty look, clearly offended by my comments. "Then what is it?"

"It's that people make assumptions after asking said questions."

The crease across her brow softens a bit.

I take a step toward her as I go on. "It's that they think they know you. Just because you have my birth date, my net worth, and my fucking zodiac sign doesn't mean you know a goddamn thing about me."

She blinks and doesn't reply at first. Then she brushes her hair out of her eyes, and when she speaks, her voice has softened, no longer challenging me. "What's your favorite color?"

"Black. It's classy."

"And morbid."

I shrug. "And yours?"

"Magenta. Favorite time of year?"

"Winter. I like the change of seasons most of all. And you?"

"Summer. Beach days, sundresses, and fruity drinks with little umbrellas." I could get into beach days, sundresses, and fruity drinks with little umbrellas, if she was beside me. Something tells me she'd make it worth it.

"Mountains or beach?" she asks.

"Mountains. You?"

"Both." Of course.

"If you had a million dollars, what would you do?"

I try to hide my amusement when she smacks her head a second later. "Oh, duh. You probably already have a million dollars and can do whatever the hell you want."

"Not whatever I want." If I could do whatever I want, she'd be tied to my headboard right this very minute while I made her toes curl, and she'd grow hoarse from screaming her pleasure.

She holds my gaze, and I wonder if she knows my thoughts went to keeping her here with me.

"Pet peeve?" she asks.

"When people don't tell the truth. And I don't just mean big lies, everyone hates those. I hate the little lies people say. To each other. To themselves."

"Oooh. Deep."

"Yours?"

"When people don't put the carts away at the grocery store."

I almost laugh, before I realize she's serious.

"You're not joking."

She shakes her head. "Why should someone have to go get carts in the rain or blazing sun just because someone's lazy ass didn't have the decency to put the damn thing back? It's just the right thing to do."

I wonder if Regina's entire code of ethics could be summed up in that one line. It was just the right thing to do.

"Night owl or early bird? Oh, wait. You told me you get up at the ass crack of dawn to work out." She grimaces.

"Guess that gives me your answer, then."

"Yep." She yawns. "Not Tonight, though. That amaretto kicked my ass."

"Understood. Okay, so you can stay in the guest room. Let's get you up to bed." She looks at me, and I look at her, and I'd smile if there wasn't something sad, almost wistful, in her eyes.

I show her to the guest room, all business now. I don't want her to think I'm only going to hit on her like any other douchebag who wants to get laid.

I mean, I'm a douchebag and I want to get laid, but I like to think I have some redeeming qualities.

We peek in on Dany before we settle in for the night. She's curled up next to Prince, and Prince's little paw is on her shoulder.

"Oh my goodness," Regina whispers, turning into a puddle of goo. "That's the most adorable thing I've ever seen."

Not true, I think. The most adorable thing I've ever seen is standing right here next to me.

But okay, it's pretty cute.

"Does he do that a lot?'

"Do what?"

"Just put his paw on you or something."

She shakes her head and wraps her arms around herself, her voice a breath of a whisper. "No. I've never seen him do it before."

We both stare in silence at the little picture before us. "Animals have strong intuition, though. He must've known she needed his comfort Tonight."

Regret surges through me. I had business to attend to, yeah, but I didn't have to pawn the kid off the way I did. I make a vow to myself, right then and there, that I won't ever let it happen again.

Dany's my charge, now. And I'll take this fucking seriously.

I walk with Regina to her room. "Bathroom's stocked with toiletries and fresh towels," I say, gesturing. "Extra pillows and blankets in the closet. If there's anything you need, let me know."

"Thank you."

I turn to leave when she calls my name. "Emmett?"

"Yeah?"

She holds my gaze, then shakes her head, and her cheeks flush the faintest shade of pink. "Nothing. It's nothing."

This time, I don't pry. It's late, we've had a long day, and six a.m. comes way too fucking quickly. But I don't leave when I shut the door behind me. I stand and listen. There's a soft rustle of fabric, then the sound of running water. I imagine she's undressing, and for one brief moment, I wonder if I've imagined there's anything between us.

It's been so long since I've even had to question whether or not a woman wanted to be with me. I've had women—any woman I wanted—for years.

But this one… she plays hard to get.

One thing she'll learn about me, though.

I always get what I want.