As my hand touched the knob on the door and I was just about to turn it to make my escape into my room, his voice stopped me. “It’s rude not to say hello. Especially when someone is cooking dinner for you.”

I released the door handle and glanced back at him. He was standing at the end of the hallway wearing a white apron tied around his waist, a black cotton short-sleeved shirt, and jeans. His tanned bare feet completed the image. My words faltered as I stared at him. He didn’t seem upset, and his expression wasn’t as dark as it normally was. The tension in his shoulders was absent. He was relaxed, and that was as out of place as it was attractive. Maybe attractive wasn’t a strong enough word. He was striking, breathtaking, much like Fiona had been in her running gear. The difference was my heart hadn’t stuttered at the sight of her. If it had, I might be in less of a predicament.

“I didn’t know you were cooking for me. I thought . . . you were celebrating your peaceful house tonight.”

His laugh was short and he sounded amused. “Oh, I am. But I don’t bother to cook pierogi for myself. That shit’s too damn hard.”

I had no idea what pierogi was, but it smelled delicious. I’d made a tomato mozzarella salad with grilled chicken for dinner at Geraldine’s. We’d sat on the back patio and enjoyed our meal while she told me stories of Stone and Jasper’s childhood. The happy kind of stories. The ones that made us laugh. She had also given me some ideas for Stone’s birthday.

However, I wasn’t going to tell him I’d eaten. This week alone, Stone had helped me and saved me over and over again. I could eat a second dinner if that’s what he wanted. Heck, if he asked me to walk a tightrope from this building to the next I would have a hard time telling him no. I would of course tell him no because I had a recurring dream of falling from a tightrope to my death. The recurring dream started after watching a news report when I was a child about that exact thing happening to a lady at the local circus.

“Thank you. I should be the one cooking you dinner though. You had a rough morning then you had to deal with the situation at Geraldine’s. I am causing problems for you. I don’t want to do that.”

He wiped his right hand on the apron that hung on his waist. “Jasper is my best friend. I’ve been pulling him out of shit since we were kids. I’m the harder one. He’s emotional, and I’m not. Today wasn’t about you, it was about him. This . . . is about him,” Stone said staring at me. His gaze locked on mine. “Don’t feel as if you owe me anything. Except to eat the meal I slaved over.” He finished his last sentence with a softer almost teasing lilt to his voice.

I didn’t want to think about the seriousness of his words. I’d come to expect Stone’s brutal honesty. But allowing myself to give in to his attractive qualities—the way his eyes lit when he smiled, or the security I felt with him—was dangerous. He was protecting Jasper. Believing any of this was for me would only hurt me in the end.

Right now, I was weak, broken, and my heart was longing for a way to heal. Stone was not offering open arms nor should I be leaning his direction for sympathy. Even if this was all for Jasper, I was thankful for his help and I owed him my gratitude. Eating dinner twice was a small price to pay.

“Thank you for making dinner,” I replied simply. Saying more was needless. He had said all that needed to be said.

“You’re welcome. You gave me a reason to cook. I’ve missed it.”

Jasper had given him a reason to cook. That thought popped up so quickly it almost sounded bitter in my head. I put a hand on that thought mentally and squished it down. I was not that girl. I never had been, and I wouldn’t start now. Stone wasn’t mine, and he wasn’t meant to be mine. My confusion was because I felt such strong feelings for Jasper. My emotions were blurring the lines, confusing things.

“Get comfortable. It’ll be a few more minutes. Dinner here isn’t a formal thing. I’m barefoot, and the table out on the balcony won’t have a tablecloth on it. Wear whatever you want.”

With that, he walked back to the kitchen. I waited until he was gone before letting out a sigh. From day one Stone had made me uncomfortable, nervous, and angry. The relief, gratefulness, and odd flutter in my chest at the sight of him now mixed with those other emotions was making this all too much. If I could just stop that damn flutter. If I didn’t take him in like I was drinking a cold drink of water on a hot day when I saw him, this would all be easy to deal with. I was good at adjusting. I was a fighter. But this . . . this was different. Fighting my attraction for a man I did not want to be attracted to was not one of my strengths apparently.

My common sense said he was Jasper’s best friend and that alone made him out of my reach. Stone wasn’t the kind of man a woman should fall for—not in love, or lust because he did in fact lack emotion. Unless he was looking at Geraldine. Or when he allowed his stepsister to drive him crazy because she had no home. Or when he stepped in time and time again to save Jasper from causing himself any pain or harm. Other than that . . . he was hard.

Frowning at my train of thought, I went into the bedroom and dropped my purse on the bed before changing into a pair of black leggings and a large gray sweatshirt that said Ireland across the front in green. I’d bought it for one dollar at a thrift store three years ago. It was soft and worn. When I felt lost inside, I cuddled in its warmth.

Leaving my feet bare I made my way toward the kitchen. The music had been turned off, and the only sounds in the apartment came from the activity in the kitchen.

Stepping inside the kitchen, my gaze immediately went to Stone. He was filling a plate with what looked like a pasta dumpling and salad. His gaze lifted to mine and a pleased smile touched his lips. “I think it turned out good. I’ll let you be the judge of that though. Haven’t made these in a few years. They were one of Gerry’s favorite when I was a kid. She taught me to make them.”

Again, when he said her name I could hear the love clearly in his voice. I couldn’t say Stone was always unfeeling and hard as his name suggested because the way he felt for that elderly woman dismissed his grumpy demeanor.

“It looks delicious,” I assured him. It also smelled delicious.

“You ever had pierogi?” he asked setting one plate down and picking up the second one. His eyes were still on me.

“No,” I admitted.

“Good,” he said as he finished preparing the plate. “You won’t have anything to compare it to. Less pressure on me.”

“If they taste as good as they smell I’m sure it’ll be wonderful. Can I help you do something?”

“Wine. I usually have a chardonnay with pierogi carbonara. A sauvignon blanc is good too. But stay away from reds. Never enjoyed the combination.”

I had no idea how to choose wine. Even when I was told what kind to choose. They were all the same to me. But I didn’t say as much. Instead, I went to the large wine rack beside his bar and looked for either of the two wines he mentioned. I figured I’d go with the first I found. Different wineries meant little to me.

Glancing at the wines, I only saw reds. Then I remembered that the Van Allans kept their whites in a wine cooler thing. I checked for one and found it behind what appeared to be an elaborate cabinet door. The chilled white wines lined the racks inside. I quickly found a chardonnay, pulled it out and met Stone in the doorway. Both his hands were full. “Glasses and wine opener are already on the table. Take it out there. I’m right behind you.”