Brock stirred the makeshift stew he had on the fire. He had made soup, and now stew. For the farmhouse to be stocked with canned goods like this, it was obvious that it was a summer home, or something similar. But if he owned a place like this, he’d never leave. Even though it was old and needed a bit of work—remodeling more than anything—it was warm and had good structure.

Much like the woman he shared it with.

Brock could tell that Mallory was a good person deep down, even though she was spoiled. If he had to guess, she probably didn’t have many friends. And the friends she had were probably just as self-centered as she was. But as he stirred the stew, he realized there was something about her that was genuine. Something about her that pulled him to her.

He wondered if that was the way it was with everyone who met her. She was like... gravity. It seemed that everything within her orbit gravitated toward her. Or was it just him?

He was about to ask her a question, but she had finished her bowl of fruit and settled back down on the sofa. Brock worried that she was truly hurt. But then again, she had been through a traumatic experience and only had the night to process it.

“So, what are you thinking about?” she asked, breaking the silence from the sofa.

He shook his head. “Nothing,” he lied.

“How long do you think we’ll be here?” she asked, impatience leaking into her voice.

He shook his head, replacing the lid on the soup. “Well, unless it stops snowing, we’re stuck here.”

Mallory nodded, turning over to face him. He tried not to notice, but her eyes were the most gorgeous blue that he had ever seen. When it started to get uncomfortable, he looked away, glad he had the stew as a distraction.

Brock took the pot from the fire, headed into the kitchen, and poured himself a bowl. When he came back in and sat on the loveseat, Mallory’s eyebrows rose, trying to look to see what was in his bowl. “What’s that?”

He shrugged, feeling like teasing her, although he wasn’t sure why. She seemed to bring it out in him. “My dinner.” He took a bite, moaning with pleasure. Of course, he was exaggerating a bit for her benefit.

“You didn’t make any for me?” Mallory sat up, pushing out her lip into a beautiful pout.

Brock shrugged. “Did you help make it?”

“No, but—”

“Did you offer me any of your fruit?” Not that he would have eaten any, but that was beside the point.

“No, but—”

“In my book,” Brock cut her off, “if you don’t work, you don’t eat... or get paid.”

Mallory scoffed. “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not feeling well.”

Brock set down the soup, concern coloring his face. He wasn’t a doctor, but he knew enough to know that if she felt nauseous with a concussion, it wasn’t a good sign. “Are you feeling nauseous?”

She shrugged, nodding. “Yes. A little. But mainly, my head hurts.” She put her hand to her head and then laid back down on the sofa.

He crossed the room to her and felt her forehead. Luckily, she didn’t have a fever.

Mallory’s head snapped up, narrowing her beautiful eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Brock scoffed, shaking his head. “For someone so beautiful, you sure have a sharp tongue.”

She shrugged. “What does beauty have to do with what’s inside?”

“Good question.” He went back to his seat and resumed eating. “I’ve met some people that are not attractive on the outside but are some of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met. But on the other hand,” he added for her benefit, “I’ve known some people that are drop dead gorgeous on the outside but were shallow and ugly inside.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Are you calling me shallow?”

He shrugged as he took another bite of his soup, unable to resist. “Well, if the shoe fits—”

“Hey!” she cut him off, pooching out her pouty lip again. It had probably been her go-to move so often over the years that she may not even be aware that she did it.

Brock laughed, enjoying her discomfort a bit too much. “I was only joking.” But he could see that everyone probably fell at her feet when they met her, eager to do her bidding, but he wasn’t one of them. “Would you like some stew?”

Her lips pulled back away from her lips. “Eww! No!”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Brock took another bite of the stew and moaned loudly. “But it’s really good.”

A shiver ran over Mallory’s body. “Thanks, but stew from a can does not fit into my diet.”

He burst out laughing. “Please. Don’t tell me that you’re one of those actresses that starve themselves to death to keep their ‘girlish figure’.”

“Go ahead! Laugh it up,” she replied, turning back over. “But when I’m rich and famous and you’re still sitting here, then we’ll talk.”

“Uuummm!!!” he said, loudly slurping up the stew. “Boy, this is good!”

“Pig,” she said, not turning back to him.

He laughed, enjoying aggravating her, although he wasn’t sure why. Brock guessed it was because she was an easy target. Also, it wasn’t in his nature to just roll over and let a woman step on him. Many women had tried to sink their claws into him before, but no one had ever caught him. Also, he had never really fallen in love before. He had dated but had never gone out with anyone over a date or two. Most of the women seemed uninteresting to him. Shallow. He’d like to get married one day but refused to settle. Brock would treat a woman like a queen, but he didn’t want his queen to disrespect the king, either.