Recipe for Love Read Online Anne Malcom

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors: Anne Malcom Advertisement1

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Which was a disappointment in some ways but intriguing in others. I liked seeing these versions of him, wanted to know how many more there were.

“The last owner called me and Kip in for a quote to refurbish it. Didn’t like what we had to say.”

I chuckled, thinking of the crotchety old man who used to live here, who was incredibly bothered by the fact that I, an unmarried woman, was buying his house with her own money. But it was me or no one since the place was crumbling around him and would’ve cost him a small fortune to fix up. It had been on the market for a year when I bought it, and the owner’s children were anxious to get him out of the farmhouse that was almost falling down around his ears, and into a retirement community in Florida.

“Who did the work?” Rowan asked, moving around the room, running his hands along the wall and over to the archway that led into the hall. I loved arches for transitions. They made a house warmer, a little more unexpected and modern without compromising the history of it. Well, at least that’s what I thought. Who could tell what Rowan was thinking.

I was enchanted by the way his hands moved across the smooth surface. Confident, strong.

“Um, I did,” I replied, thinking I may need my head examined for getting turned on by watching a man caress my house.

Rowan’s attention turned from the walls to me, his eyes wide with shock. “You did all of this?”

I nodded, looking down into my coffee in embarrassment. I had no idea why in the hell I was embarrassed. I’d been proud up until a few seconds ago.

I shifted uncomfortably on my feet. “I’m sure there are plenty of things you’ll be able to tell me I did wrong.” I shrugged. “The genius who had just started a new business the year prior then decided to sink most of her remaining savings into this place.” I gestured to the ceiling with my hands. “I certainly couldn’t afford a contractor, so I watched a lot of YouTube videos. I had plumbers in, of course, and Tina got some of her friends to come help me from time to time.”

I thought about the burly, terrifying bikers she’d sent to my house. With tattoos, leather vests and their Harleys, they were imposing as all hell. And a good amount of them were incredibly handsome. Fiona had been in her element.

And they’d all turned out to be polite, good men... outside of the bedroom, Fiona let me know with a wicked grin.

“I roped my brother into coming down here for the first summer after I bought the place.” I smiled fondly at the walls, at the floors, at the things I had created with my brother. “He did the heavy lifting. And the electrical stuff.”

I missed my brother terribly for a second. Like a missing limb. Of course, the distance between us always hurt, but there were moments when I felt incomplete, like I made a terrible mistake, moving so far from him. But I’d done it because I’d had to. I couldn’t be in the same city as that woman. And for whatever reason, Ansel couldn’t leave her.

She had her hooks in deep.

“Your brother’s an electrician?” I was thankful that Rowan’s question jerked me out of my thoughts.

“He is. Got certified a few years ago. He’s back in Chicago.”

“He older?”

My lips lifted of their own volition. “By two minutes… something he lords over me any chance he gets.”

Rowan inclined his head as he regarded me, a gesture I now recognized as his way of showing he was not just listening but hanging on my every word.

“You’re twins?” he asked, surprise evident in his tone.

That amused me for some reason. “You seem shocked. Do I not seem like a twin?” I teased.

He rubbed his hand over his jaw, brushing at the thick stubble. “No,” he replied instantly. “You seem like one of a kind.”

Holy crap. What did someone say to that?

I cleared my throat, not knowing what to do with my body, so I just chugged the rest of my coffee, scalding my tongue and throat in the process.

“I’ve got to get to the bakery,” I announced, wincing at the burn.

Rowan watched me for a beat before nodding. He returned to the kitchen, not just to rinse his mug and leave it in the sink for someone else—meaning me since there was no one else—to take care of like Nathan had done with every single one of his glasses, mugs and plates. No, he rinsed it, putting it in the dishwasher.

Such a simple act of common courtesy shouldn’t have seemed so big to me. But it did. And it highlighted yet another concession I’d made for Nathan. Another way I’d given him permission to walk all over me.


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