“Well, hello, sweet puppy. I’m happy to see you too.” I pet his ears and kiss his head. “Wow, the house is different,” I comment. I haven’t been in the Kings’ home in years; when I was a teenager Mrs. King had it furnished in feminine, soft fabrics and furniture, with handmade quilts thrown here and there.

Now the space is more masculine, full of leather and darker tones. Zack grins as he leads me into the kitchen, which hasn’t changed much.

“Mom and Dad took their furniture to the new place. Dad offered to buy her all new stuff, but Mom said she likes hers.” He shrugs and begins to stir something in a pot. “I needed new things anyway, so Seth and I went shopping about a month ago and picked out some furniture.”

“I like it,” I tell him honestly as I watch him move competently about the kitchen. Thor sits next to me and settles his head on my lap. He sighs contentedly as I rub his soft ears. “It smells great.”

“I hope you eat meat.”

“I’m from Montana. Of course I eat meat.”

“You never know.” He adds some garlic to a sauté pan. “You spent a lot of years in California.”

“You know what they say. You can take the girl out of Montana . . .”

“But not Montana out of the girl,” he finishes and leans his hands on the Formica countertop, watching me. “I know I haven’t said it before, but I’m glad you’re home, Jill.”

I blush and look down at the sweet dog’s face. I’m not used to this side of Zack. This relaxed, honest side of him. He’s always been so intense, and I know that he doesn’t reveal his emotions easily.

“I’m happy I’m home too.”

“What made you decide to move back, anyway?” he asks, slipping some bread into the oven.

My hands still for a moment and I bite my lip. I’m not going to admit that I’m here because of my cheating ex-husband.

Not a chance.

“It was time to come back,” I answer instead. “I missed home.”

He nods thoughtfully, pours us each a glass of red wine, and hands me mine. “I hope you like spaghetti. It’s the only thing I make really well.”

“I love it.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No.” I laugh and take a sip of my wine. “I love Italian food. I brought dessert.”

His eyes warm and narrow and a smile tickles his lips, showing me that dimple. “You’ve already said that I’m not allowed to have what I really want for dessert tonight, so strawberry shortcake will have to do.”

“You’ll live,” I reply dryly.

He drains the pasta and plates our meals before throwing the crusty garlic bread in a basket, and motions for me to grab our wine and follow him to the kitchen table.

“Thor, bed,” he commands and snaps his fingers, and Thor immediately curls up on the dog bed in the corner of the room.

“He’s already trained really well.”

“Seth has done most of the work.” He joins me at the table and grins proudly. “He loves that dog. And Thor’s smart.”

“Mmm, so good,” I mutter with a mouth full of pasta drenched in red sauce. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

He nods and eats, watching me. “How’s business?”

“Slow this time of year.” I shrug and take a bite of bread. “Typical. How about you?”

“The same. We just survive winters. Things will be nuts around here in a few months.”

“Are you glad to be back on the ranch?” I ask.

“Yeah. I missed it. Seth loves every minute of it.”

I glance over at Thor, whose ears have perked up at the sound of his young master’s name. “Do you ever hear from his mother?” I can’t say the woman’s name out loud.

“No.”

He doesn’t elaborate.

“Never?”

“No.” He won’t meet my eyes, and instead just keeps shoveling food in his mouth. Does it hurt him to think of her?

The thought of that makes me ill.

“Is the divorce final?” I ask casually and reach for my wine. His fork stills in midair and he looks at me like I’ve just asked if he’d ever consider a sex change.

He lowers the fork back to the plate and wipes his mouth on his napkin, gathering his thoughts.

“The divorce was final before I ever touched you.” The words are deceptively calm. His eyes are pinned to mine now, a slight frown pulled between his brows. “I would have never put my hands on you if it wasn’t.”

I nod once and carry on as though it’s not that big a deal, but something in me that was worried before loosens.

When my plate is clean, I lean back in the chair and rub my hands up and down my flat belly.

“Dear God, I’m full.”

“No dessert?” he asks with a chuckle.

“Not for a while. Maybe not for a month.”

I stand and clear my plate and glass. “Are you finished?”

“Yeah, but I’ll clean up.”

“You cooked. I think there’s a federal law somewhere that says that the cook doesn’t clean.” I wink and gather his dishes and carry them to the kitchen. I rinse and load the dishes into the dishwasher, wipe down the countertops, and then turn to find him standing on the other side of the island, leaning on his elbows.

He opens his mouth to speak, and just when I think he’s going to say something profound, he says, “I have plans for this kitchen.”