The Family You Make (Sunrise Cove #1)

That was when her stomach chose to rumble and grumble like a locomotive engine. Horrified, she pressed her hands to her belly while Mateo laughed and tugged her inside.

She’d been in his house a few times. Once for a holiday party, which had been the first time she’d seen him outside of his role as a doctor. It had fascinated her, watching him with friends and family, all of whom clearly adored him. A few months later, they’d had a disagreement at work and she’d stalked off, angry that he’d reported a coworker and gotten him fired, only to find out later that coworker had been harassing a female coworker. She’d gone to his house to apologize. On both visits she’d spent more time concentrating on the man, not the place he’d made his home.

This time, she was afraid to concentrate on the man. She felt too . . . exposed for that today, and when she was exposed, she didn’t always make smart decisions.

So she looked around. The big living room had the same wall-to-wall windows hers did, framing the gorgeous mountains she loved. In her house, her furniture was feminine and a little flowery because, sue her, she loved a little flowery. Mateo’s place was all warm woods and neutral colors, and big, sturdy furniture that was inviting in a whole new way. No flowery anything anywhere.

There were noises coming from the kitchen, making her realize she’d stopped in the living room and Mateo hadn’t. She followed the sounds and found he’d pulled on sweatpants and a T-shirt, and she didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed.

Still barefoot, he stood in front of his stove, cracking eggs into a pan. His other hand was holding a spatula, which he used to point her to a barstool on the other side of his cooking station.

So she sat, watching him chop up some veggies and toss them in with the eggs. Then he grabbed the handle of the pan and with a flick of his wrist, flipped the omelet.

Two minutes later he’d divided the eggs onto two plates, added toast, and served her with an easy efficiency that was sexy as hell.

“You’ve been doing that a long time,” she said.

He shrugged. “My parents worked around the clock. So did my aunts, and being the oldest, I was the babysitter of a lot of kids. It was cook or go hungry.”

She knew he had a big extended family, and that he took care of most of them. He was good at taking care of others, really good. “Who takes care of you?” she asked.

His gaze met hers, warm, curious, probably because normally, she did her best to keep some mental distance between them—it was the only way she knew how to resist him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ask such a personal question.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, pouring them both juice, then sitting on the barstool next to her. Their thighs brushed, and when he reached for a napkin, so did their arms.

“I take care of me.” He turned his head to hold her gaze. “The same way you take care of you. It’s who we are, it’s what we do.”

She nodded. Then shook her head. “Does it ever get to you? Always being an island?”

Reaching out, he brushed the tips of his fingers along her jaw. “I guess I don’t let myself think about it too much.”

“That’s usually my tactic too,” she admitted. “But sometimes it gets old.”

He watched her inhale the food he’d made for her, a small smile curving his mouth. “We could do something about that.”

She nearly choked on a bite of toast. “Meaning?”

He just smiled.

Something low in her belly quivered. A good kind of quiver. One she hadn’t allowed herself much of in a long time. “Um . . .”

“You telling me you haven’t thought about it?”

She met his gaze. “To be clear, by it, you’re suggesting we . . . sleep together.”

“I’m suggesting I’m here to meet any need you have, any time.”

If she thought about that for even another second, she was going to crawl into his lap and wrap herself around him. Instead, she stood up, took both their empty plates and went to the sink with them. She rinsed them and helped herself to his dishwasher, loading the dishes inside. When she turned, he was right there, close enough to touch, and she sucked in a breath. “That was the only need I’m capable of helping you with at the moment,” she said, even as her body vehemently disagreed with her.

Mateo smiled, like no worries. Or maybe because he knew she was lying. “And you?” he asked. “Is there a need I can help you with?”

She had to bite her tongue rather than answer yes, please!

His amusement faded. “Want to talk about last night?”

“No.” Definitely not.

He just looked at her for a long beat. “When you’re ready, then.”

She fussed with drying off his countertop. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“Any time.” He gently pulled her back around to face him. “But just so you know, I’m sure we could do much better than breakfast for you.”

Her body, knowing it, shifted against his. “I . . . need to work up to that.”

With a smile, he cupped her face and brushed a kiss across her forehead. “On your time, Charlotte. Always.”

A FEW MINUTES later, Charlotte walked back to her house, carrying one of Mateo’s mugs filled with his own special blend of coffee that might as well have been crack, it was that good.

The sun had risen. Gorgeous but not anywhere close to warm. Snow clung stubbornly to the pine trees and the icy air burned her lungs. She didn’t care because it was still early, and Dr. Charlotte Marie Dixon was leaving a man’s house and she was smiling.

She felt amazing. Absolutely nothing had happened beyond breakfast, but it’d been the most intimate she’d been with a man in years.

When she stepped into her kitchen, she found Jane sitting at the table staring at a small flat box on the coffee table as if it was a coiled rattlesnake. She looked up at Charlotte with obvious relief. “Hey. Where were you? You were off shift an hour ago and your car’s here, but you vanished.”