“I never do, actually,” Austin said, handing me one of the glasses across the island. “I put your drinks on my tab. Because yes, buying drinks for a shifter is more than just buying drinks. It’s a declaration of interest. Kind of like when a Dick offers to buy a strange lady a drink. We don’t go in rounds like you try to do, Jess.”
Heat burned through my body. It felt like I couldn’t breathe. “You always buy my drinks?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. I’ve always said thank you to Niamh. I assumed she just had Ivy House pay her back.”
“And I’m sure she thought it was hilarious to take credit for something I was doing.” Austin grinned and opened the fridge.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “So you’ve been silently telling me you want to bang me this whole time?”
Kingsley choked into his wine and bent forward so as not to spill it down his crisp beige button-up.
Austin turned back from the fridge with a plate of scallops and a long dish with covered compartments that probably contained his prepped ingredients. He pulled the plastic off the scallops and set the plate on the island. “No. With you…it’s complicated.”
“You bought me a bottle of wine my first night. Or…gave it to me, I guess.”
“Yeah…” He drew out the word. Kingsley sat down beside me, and Austin sprinkled some salt and pepper over the scallops. “You frazzled me that first night. I couldn’t make you out, and then you were politely calling me out for my wine selection and blindsiding me with knowledge about women. I didn’t know up from down. I didn’t know what I was doing. I gave you that first bottle without thinking about it, then bought you another because you were so funny and unique that I wanted to keep you from leaving.”
He pulled out a pan and set it on the burner, located on the island. It was a perfect design for cooking while still chatting with guests. Given the house was custom built, he must’ve planned it that way.
Kingsley swirled his wine in his glass, giving it air to open up the flavor. “I can sympathize,” he said. “She rammed into me, challenged me, and then mocked me, all within the space of five minutes. It took everything I had not to burst out laughing. Like a little fly buzzing around, talking tough.”
“Little did you know,” Austin said, setting the flame before pouring olive oil into the pan.
He placed the scallops on the hot pan, searing them. Steam rose toward the hood above the stove, and he flicked on the fan, a soft whirring now accompanying his words. “Anyway, Jess, after that, it was like a snowball effect. It felt normal buying you drinks, and because you thought nothing of it, it seemed harmless.”
“Unless her intention was to move on another shifter,” Kingsley said, setting his glass down. He grunted at the wine. “Good. Much better than the wineries around me.”
“The winemaker is a contender for our new winery.” Austin pointed a spatula at the bottle before carefully but expertly flipping the first scallop. The cooked side was perfectly golden brown. “I tried to make it known that I was her protector but didn’t have a claim on her.”
Another flip of the spatula.
Kingsley huffed. “I bet that came across loud and clear.”
Austin tensed but didn’t comment.
My heart beat strong and sure. My core pounded. Both were a response to hearing that Austin had essentially claimed me so long ago. He may not have meant to or tried to, but he’d done it all the same.
“Thanks.” I took a sip of my wine, the flavors of chocolate and spice exploding on my palate. “I’m sure it kept a lot of unwanted attention away.”
“It was probably Niamh who kept a lot of the unwanted attention away.” Austin grinned, flipping the last two scallops and then taking plates out of the cupboard.
“That too.”
“You still haven’t told me what you want for dinner.” Austin removed the scallops and slid them onto a waiting plate.
“Oh…um…whatever. I’m happy not to decide, actually. I always hated choosing what was for dinner. Even takeout. I always had to decide literally every meal. I’d ask the ex, he’d defer to me, I’d choose something, and he’d argue about the choice. It drove me nuts. Now I’m just happy I don’t have to cook. I’ll eat whatever, even if I don’t really like it. Mr. Tom makes eggplant every so often, and I can’t stand it. But whatever. He goes to all the trouble.”
“Wow. So that’s a bonus,” Kingsley said. “Easy to please with food.”
Austin glanced at Kingsley. “Do you care what I make?”
“Baked potato. I’m a simple man.”
“In the head, yeah,” I said, because honestly, the setup was too good.
Austin dropped butter into the pan and swirled it around the bottom before adding garlic, moving it around with a wooden spoon. He grabbed a bottle of white wine from behind him and poured in a big splash, a plume of smoke heading for the fan, liquid jumping and spitting.