‘Then I must make up for my deficiencies,’ he replied. ‘How about I make us lunch?’

His suggestion caused another frisson of wary pleasure to shiver through her. Ellery arched her eyebrows. ‘You can actually cook?’

‘A few things.’

She hesitated. They were stepping into new territory now, first with the little flirtatious exchange and now with the idea of Larenz actually making lunch—cooking—for her. Dangerous ground.

Exciting ground. Ellery hadn’t felt so alive in ages, not since she’d first buried herself here in the far reaches of Suffolk, and probably far before that, too. She sucked in a slow breath. ‘All right,’ she finally said, and heard the mingled reluctance and anticipation in her voice. Larenz heard it, too, or she assumed as much from the wicked little smile he gave her.

‘Fantastic. Where are your cooking pots?’

Smiling a little bit, a bubble of laughter threatening to rise up inside her and escape, Ellery showed him where everything was. Within a few minutes he was playing at executive chef, dicing a few tomatoes with surprising agility as a big pot of water bubbled on the stove. Ellery knew she should go upstairs and make the beds, but instead she found herself perched on the edge of the table, watching Larenz move around the kitchen with ease and grace. He was wonderful to watch.

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