On A Night Like This (Callaways #1)

night, at least not more than a mumbled hello or goodbye when their paths crossed, which hadn't been often. She'd made sure of that. She'd left for college a few months later. Then her mom died, and there was no reason to go home.
    Which brought her to the present…
    She was twenty-nine, not seventeen, and she had no intention of falling for Aiden's charm again.
    Getting up, she grabbed some clothes out of her suitcase and headed into the bathroom. A quick shower made her feel a lot more like herself. After dressing in jeans and a soft sweater, she headed down the stairs.
    The kitchen looked even worse in the daylight. So did the dining room and the hallway where sheets of wallpaper were peeling off the walls.
    Her dad would be devastated. He had always been a very neat, organized person. She had to fix it. She'd start with Aiden's uncle.
    She left the house and walked next door. Her knock went unanswered. That was odd. It was nine o'clock in the morning. Where was everyone? She glanced down the driveway at the room over the garage. She really didn't want to talk to Aiden again. But what option did she have? She climbed the stairs and knocked.
    Aiden opened the door and gave her a sleepy stare.
    Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of his bare chest, tousled hair, rough beard and bruised cheek. Thankfully, he still had on his sweats.
    "What's up?" he drawled.
    It took her a minute to remember why she was there. "I wanted to get your Uncle Kevin's phone number. I tried the house, but no one answered."
    "I don't have his number on me, but I'm sure my mom has it. I can get it for you," he said.
    "Are you sure? It looks like I woke you up."
    "You did."
    "Well, at least you slept."
    "A few hours anyway." He stepped back into the room, grabbed a shirt and pulled it over his head. Then he walked out to the landing, pulling the door shut behind him. "How did you sleep?"
    "Not bad." She followed him down the stairs and into the house.
    "First, coffee," he said, grabbing two mugs out of the cupboard.
    "That would be awesome," she said.
    He poured two mugs and handed her one.
    She took a grateful sip. At some point in law school, she'd become addicted to coffee. All those late nights studying for the bar had made caffeine a necessary part of her diet.
    "Did you talk to your dad this morning?" Aiden asked.
    "Not yet. I want to have some information to share when I tell him he's going to need a new kitchen. Do you think you could get me that phone number?"
    "I could, but I'm hungry. Why don't we eat first? I'll cook."
    Before she could answer, he had set down his coffee and was on his way to the refrigerator. He pulled out a carton of eggs. "Scrambled okay?"
    "You don't have to make me breakfast," she said, although the idea was making her stomach rumble.
    "It's no big deal. I can make you a scramble you won't forget—tomatoes, onions, avocado, cheese."
    "You're even cocky about your eggs," she said dryly.
    He grinned. "I know my strengths, that's all. What do you say? Have breakfast with me?"
    She really needed to say no. This was Aiden, the man who had rejected her a decade earlier and left her heartbroken and feeling completely unsure of herself. It had taken her a long time to recover. Did she really want to spend even a few more minutes with him?
    The tingle running down her spine said yes. That same tingle had sent her into his arms a very long time ago. She should listen to her brain instead of her body, but when she opened her mouth to answer him, the tingle won out.
    "Yes," she said, hoping she wasn't about to make another big mistake.

Chapter Seven

    Sara sipped her coffee, watching Aiden's quick and efficient movements in the kitchen. "I can't remember the last time a man cooked breakfast for me," she muttered, then mentally kicked herself for sharing that revealing fact.
    "Do you usually cook for them?"
    "Sometimes," she said vaguely. It had been a long time since she'd even had breakfast with a man, much less cooked for one. Not that she had much skill in the kitchen anyway. Her mom had tried to teach her, but her father liked his meals just so, and she'd always felt too much pressure to cook, so she'd usually sat on a stool, chatting while her mom made dinner.
    A wave of sadness ran through her.
    "What's wrong?" Aiden asked, his sharp gaze raking her face as he glanced over at her from the stove.
    She started, straightening. "Nothing."
    "You'd be a lousy poker player. You have way too many tells."
    "And a tell