Chapter 2

• Taking a deep breath, Nathalie walked through the hallway and into the living room. The sight stopped her short. The room resembled her grandmother's home—a large cuckoo clock, heavy dark wooden furniture, a color palette from the seventies or so. It didn't scream "hot bachelor in his late thirties."
• "So..." Ethan smirked from his seat on the couch, turning off the TV. "That took you long enough."
• "How old are you?" Nathalie asked, frowning as she looked around. "Eighty?"
• He grinned. "This is my parents' house. I have one week to clear it out before the new renters move in."
• "Oh. Did they..."
• "Die?" he finished. "Dad did. Mom moved in with my sister. She insisted I take care of the place, and honestly, she's right." He looked her over and smiled. "Right now, I'm very glad she insisted."
• "I'm sorry about your dad," Nathalie said, suddenly feeling awkward standing there without underwear.
• "He'd been sick for over a year. It's for the better." He got up and stretched. "Now it's my turn for a shower. I can't wait to get out of this suit." He brushed past her toward the hallway and chuckled when she tensed up.
• "Don't get shy now," he murmured. "And don't think for a second that I didn't notice you're only wearing a shirt. Don't you dare put anything else on."
• "Okay," she managed to reply.
• "And for the record..." Ethan moved closer, brushing his lips against her neck, making her shiver. "I'm still hungry."
• Before Nathalie could respond, he moved away and closed the door behind him. "My name is Ethan, by the way," he called out just loud enough for her to hear, "not that you care."
• "Nathalie!" she shouted back with a roll of her eyes. "Not that you asked."
• He laughed and started singing, "Sweet Nathalie..."
• "How original!" she shot back, heading to the kitchen. She decided to see what she could put together. She was a bit hungry, though admittedly more nervous than anything else.
• "How original," Nathalie muttered before heading to the kitchen. She decided to see if she could whip up something to eat. She was slightly hungry, though her nerves overshadowed her appetite.
• Ethan took his time in the shower and changing, longer than Nathalie had anticipated. She suspected he was giving her ample time to explore the fridge and unpack her own groceries. Cooking was a skill she adored, a shared passion with her mom, and she mused on what her mother would think if she could see her now—preparing a meal for a man she had only just met and in whose kitchen she stood half-dressed. It would definitely raise eyebrows.
• "That smells amazing," Ethan remarked as he strolled back in, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants. Nathalie couldn't help but notice how every man seemed to own a pair, as if it were the universal choice for maximum allure. Not that she was complaining; Ethan's well-toned, tattooed physique was worth appreciating.
• "Fifteen more minutes," Nathalie called out as she peeked into the oven before returning to the stove to stir the pan. "I found some puff pastry in the freezer and have sausages for pigs in a blanket. There's also fried chicken and baked potatoes..." She trailed off as Ethan moved closer, pressing against her back, his presence a deliberate distraction.
• "You're a blessing," he murmured, kissing her neck and letting his hands glide up her thighs. He chuckled when she shifted, slightly uneasy but intrigued. "You've been waiting for this since you stepped in here."
• "Well..." she felt breathless, struggling to form a complete thought as his hands inched up, beginning to lift the shirt. "No," she decided, pulling it back down. "First, food."
• "Then sex?" Ethan suggested, sounding a touch disappointed even as he had been the one to insist she cook, though not in so many words.
• "Food first," she reiterated. "Go sit on the couch so you won't distract me."
• Ethan grunted. "Where's the fun in that, Nathalie?"
• The way he said her name was like a promise, and while part of her wanted to surrender to the moment right there, right then, she fought the urge. She needed to maintain some level of dignity and find out more about Ethan before letting things progress.
• "How old are you?" she asked.
• He perched on the table adjacent to the kitchen, his feet on a chair. "Do we really need to compile a whole list of facts about each other before deciding to sleep together? I know nothing about you beyond your name and address—it doesn't bother me."
• "I need a little more." Nathalie flipped the potatoes in the pan and asked again for his age.
• "How old do you think I am?"
• She eyed him critically. "Thirty-eight."
• He smiled. "Thanks, Nathalie. I'm forty-one."
• Damn, older than she thought.
• "And you—how old are you?" Ethan queried.
• "How old do you think I am?" She countered, raising an eyebrow.
• "Fair enough," he conceded, appraising her with a gaze that sent a shiver down her spine. "Twenty-seven."
• "Not sure if that's an insult or a compliment," she replied, accustomed to others assuming she was older. "I'm twenty-four."
• "Seventeen years between us," Ethan mused. "That's quite a gap. I could have been your father."
• "Yeah, if you'd knocked up your high school girlfriend," she teased. "Please don't tell me you want me to call you daddy."
• "I'm relieved to hear that," he says with a shudder, looking much younger with that expression of distaste. It was hard to believe this man was actually 41—he must have good genes. "I've already got a girl in my life who calls me daddy."
• Nathalie's mind raced with possibilities. Was he some kind of pervert? Married, perhaps? Was he looking for a quick escape before returning to a family? Or did he simply enjoy the thrill of casual encounters?
• "My daughter," Ethan clarified, chuckling at her startled expression. "I'm happily divorced, if you're wondering. No girlfriend, just a sweet little girl I co-parent. I hope that's enough personal information for you, because that's all you're getting. Let's skip exchanging all the boring stuff. Does it really matter what my job is or where I live? This is just a night of fun between two strangers. Why ruin it by getting too personal?"
• "Okay," Nathalie agreed, feeling excited by the prospect. She knew enough to feel assured she wasn't being naive. At his age, it made sense that he'd have a child. She noticed no wedding ring or its absence marked by a tell-tale band of pale skin, so she decided he was likely telling the truth. If not, well, that wasn't her concern.
• Ethan walked over to the window, closing the curtains and turning on some music she didn't recognize—it might have been something from his younger days. Seventeen years was a considerable age difference, after all. Her mom was only three years older, while her dad was just six years his senior. He was indeed closer in age to her parents than to her, yet here they were.
• Stop thinking about your parents and enjoy the moment, she scolded herself. He's attractive, and he wants you. Just savor this experience.
• "A gift from God," Ethan repeated as Nathalie placed the food on the coffee table in front of the couch, handing him a plate. "You truly are the best stranger I've ever invited into my parents' apartment."