There was something about watching a man cook with such confidence, and rather impressive biceps, that did something to a girl's ovaries, I mused as I watched Henry at work.

I finally understood why people enjoyed watching those chefs at work.

"This is the way my mother taught me." Henry said quietly as he poured oil with a dramatic flourish in a large pan and flipped the heat on.

I tilted my head, surprised at the way he offered that titbit without prompting. "Is your mum a good cook?" I asked tentatively.

After his odd reaction to catching me looking at the photos I was half afraid to push too hard in case he shut off again.

Right now, with his sleeves rolled up and a garlic crush in his hands, he looked more relaxed than I had ever seen him. Even the constant frown that usually creased his forehead had smoothed out. It was clear he enjoyed cooking and I couldn't help but wonder if that trait was passed down from someone special to him.

There was still a stiffness to him that said he wasn't totally comfortable around me. A fact that was oddly endearing. Did I make him as nervous as he made me?

"Oh yes, she's amazing." A faint smile played at the corner of Henry's mouth and I smiled too.

Henry seemed to notice the direction of my thoughts and he straightened up looking serious as he threw parsley in with the garlic in his pan. "Can you grab the pasta from that cupboard... please?" He pointed to the one just to the left of my head.

"Yes chef."

I couldn't help letting my smile turn into a full on Cheshire cat grin at the way he said 'please'.

I turned and opened the cupboard he had indicated to reveal neatly labelled jars containing different rice and pastas, all lined up on shelves. My eyebrows shot up, impressed by the level of organisation, not that I would have expected anything less from him at this point.

He would have a fit if he saw the state of my cupboards at home and the haphazard stacks of jars, tins and packets. Not to mention the repurposed fruit bowl which I had filled with chocolate bars instead!

Standing on my tiptoes I reached up to retrieve the pasta and handed him the jar of penne, my favourite. He gave a nod of approval, although I wasn't sure what for, and poured some into another pan of boiling water before reaching over me to place the tub back in the cupboard.

My back pressed to the counter to give him room, and I gazed up at him for what felt like the longest moment before he looked down and our eyes connected. He was so close I could feel the heat of his body, not quite against my own, but near enough. His breath ruffled the top of my hair and I didn't dare move or speak to break the tension.

The oil in the pan made a sharp spitting noise that had us both flinching, and the spell was broken, Henry immediately snapped back to focus on the cooking as though the moment had never happened.

"Are you ok chopping the tomatoes?" He asked, pointed to the chopping board and knife with the spoon he held.

"Of course." I replied, taking a steadying breath and picking up the knife to do as he asked.

He's my boss, I tried to remind my starry eyed brain, which was already planning which set of underwear it thought he might like.

Tomato seeds spurted across the pristine white worktops as I cut one a little too enthusiastically and I glanced sideways in time to see Henry's look of horror before it quickly disappeared. He really wouldn't be impressed if we were cooking at my house. I didn't even own a chopping board so my poor worktops took quite the battering!

"Can you add them in here?" he said tightly, pointing to the pan of garlic and parsley.

"Sure thing chef."

As soon as I had finished adding them he placed a lid on it and rushed to wipe up the mess I had made.

I reached out to help, but he moved too quickly so I awkwardly leaned back against the breakfast bar again and decided to just watch him instead.

Every movement he made was neat and precise. As if it were a routine he had done a thousand times before and knew each step by heart to complete the task efficiently.

As if sensing my gaze, I watched him glance sideways at me. Almost trying to pretend he wasn't sneaking a look. A grin split my face and he immediately refocused on his task, studiously annoying me.

Once it was clean again, he grabbed a wooden spoon from a glass on the side and removed the lid to stir the sauce.

"Are you always this clean when you cook?" I asked as he deposited the lid in the sink and continued to stir.

Henry looked at me silently for a moment. "Are you always this messy?" Came his retort.

"Touché." I laughed.

"Saves time and makes more sense to clean up as you go." He added finally, moving his attention to the pot of utensils next to the hob and adjusting them so they sat neatly in the pot.

I got the impression that was something someone said to him often enough that he parroted it back.

We lapsed into silence again and oddly enough it wasn't an uncomfortable one. Both of us now just so wrapped in our own thoughts we didn't need to fill it.

Wordlessly Henry finished and plated our meal before leading me to a small dining room that adjoined the kitchen.

"Thank you, it looks delicious." I said as he pulled out the chair for me.

I don't think anyone had ever pulled the chair out for me and it took everything in me not to tease him for it and ask to check which century we were in. My mum liked to say that manners never went out of fashion, but in my experience people only acted like this in movies.

Henry made a gruff noise that might have sounded something like 'you're welcome' had he actually opened his mouth.

Biting back my smile, we both tucked in and I nearly moaned because it tasted so incredible. Especially when I compared it to the ready meals and freezer food I usually lived off.

I closed my eyes momentarily to savour it and then glanced over at Henry who was studiously ignoring me and examining his plate in great detail. "How did you know I was still here?" I asked after a moment, dragging his reluctant attention back to me.

"I could see the lights from the living room when I went to set the alarm." He gestured behind him through a door that led back to the living room, and the large patio doors we had come in through.

Floor to ceiling windows framed either side or the door and if you peered out into the darkness and snow, you could just about see the outline of the office.

It was funny really, all this time I had spent watching the house and wondering about him, it had never really occurred to me, just how much he was able to see us in return.

I bit back a smile at the thought. "Did you have much planned this weekend?" I asked, determined to engage Henry in conversation, even if he looked like it pained him.

"No, just work."

"All work and no play makes Henry a dull boy!" I teased.

He rolled his eyes. "Well what do you have planned that's so much more important than ensuring the smooth running of my investments?"

I smiled at the slight sass in his tone. It was oddly exciting to think I was getting under his skin, even in a small way.

"I had plans for lunch with my mum and I've got a wreath workshop with Ayla." I explained.

He frowned, looking completely lost. "A wreath workshop?"

"Yes, you make your own Christmas wreath. They make your house look extra festive. What about your Christmas decorations? I notice you haven't put them up yet?" I asked.

"Why would you need a wreath? It's only Christmas. Just one day of the year." He shrugged as though the idea baffled him.

"One day of the year?" My mega festive brain struggled to compute why anyone would think that. "But it's the most wonderful time of the year?"

I knew there had to be a catch with Henry and I had finally found it. Handsome? Check. Incredible voice? Check. Successful? Check. Of course he had to be grinch. I sent him a mournful look.

"It's just a day like any other." He said almost apologetically.

"It's not even the day! It's the lead up to it, making memories together with family and friends. Decorating the house, buying gifts and eating way too much are just part of the fun. We didn't get a proper Christmas last year with the lockdowns so this year is extra special." He had set me off now on one of the topics I was most passionate about and I was sure it wouldn't take long for him to regret it.

Henry rolled his eyes. "You sound like Penny."

I cocked my head to one side. "Penny? Is that your girlfriend? I didn't know you were seeing anyone."

Henry's brows shot up, suddenly reminding me we were employee and boss, not friends down the pub.

"I... sorry... that was inappropriate." I added, ducking my head. There was a weird feeling, something like disappointment, in the pit of my stomach.

After a brief silence he spoke again. "Not my girlfriend. She is...was...my sister." He explained quietly.

My eyes widened in horror as the meaning of his words sunk in. There was a brokenness to him I hadn't realised before and my heart ached to see it. Suddenly the weirdness around the photos made sense. His expression was totally shuttered off and made it clear he didn't want to talk about it anymore.

I couldn't just sit still and do nothing when he looked like that. Reaching across the table, I touched his arm, not caring how inappropriate that might be considered. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

His eyes were a little glassy, but he didn't pull away. We just sat there a moment. Him looking at my hand on his arm, as I held my breath, waiting for his response.

"Thank you." He whispered after a moment, drawing back in his seat so I was forced to return my hand to my lap.

The silence that followed was nowhere near as comfortable as the last as guilt wracked me and I watched him attempt to shutter himself off. It was clear his appetite was gone as he set his cutlery neatly together on the plate and folded his arms across his chest.

To anyone else it might look like he were being cocky, but I had done the same move before. I knew that sometimes you needed to hold yourself together so you didn't fall apart.

"I'll wash up, it's the least I can do after you cooked." I offered, picking up his plate and hurrying back to the kitchen before he could protest.

He didn't follow immediately and I had almost finished by the time I heard his footsteps behind me. That aching sadness in his expression hit me hard as I remembered how much I had feared experiencing that when mum had been ill.

"I'm almost done." I said, shooting him a bright smile over my shoulder.

"Don't." He said softly.

I freeze, hands still in the soapy water, wondering what I've messed up in his kitchen now that means I'm not even trusted to wash up.

"Don't pity me." He sighed, appearing to struggle to find the words for a moment. "We knew she was unwell and didn't have long. It wasn't totally unexpected. I just can't deal with that look like you are afraid of hurting me. It has been over a year. I'm handling it."

I had to disagree that the level of pain in his face and the distant look in his eyes said that he was nowhere near handling it, but it wasn't really my place to say anything.

"I don't pity you," I lied. "I am just sorry to hear she's no longer here. It's clear she meant a lot to you."

I turned to face him, wiping my hands dry on a towel and taking in his softer expression.

"She was an incredible person." Henry's eyes went glassy again, as though he were on the verge of tears.

There was a moment where I considered hugging him. Then he shook his head, as though suddenly remembering he wasn't alone. The sadness melted off his face, replaced by the same look of almost indifference he usually wore.

"Do you want me to show you to the guest room now?" He said, in a clumsy attempt to change the subject.

I didn't fight him on it and simply nodded. "That would be great, thank you."

He led the way back through the living room to collect my bag before making for the stairs. I followed him up the creaking wooden steps, trying not to gawk at the clearly expensive landscape art on the walls. I wasn't an expert, but I knew enough about art to know these huge framed pieces weren't simple reprints or cheap pictures picked up in a charity shop, like the art that adorned my walls at home.

Henry had never struck me as particularly creative, but there was a distinct artistic influence on his home that was at odds with his serious, logical behaviour.

"Main bathroom is here," he said gesturing to the first door at the top of the stairs, "I have an ensuite, so you should be fine to use this one any time. That room is my office," he pointed to the next door and then stopped in front of the third. "This is the guest room. My bedroom is the last door, down there if you need anything."

He returned his attention to the guest room door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let me in. My jaw dropped as I peered in and took in the room which looked large enough that I could probably have fitted half my flat in it.

A large swirling black metal framed bed filled the centre of the room. Oak bedside tables sat on either side and two matching oak doors set into the wall on the right. On the left was a large window with a built-in window seat.

It was the type of room that looked like it belonged in a magazine or as though it were a staged room in Ikea. "Wow." I breathed, moving towards the window.

It was too dark to see anything beyond, but I had the feeling I'd be impressed by the view in the morning. It was like a hotel or something, with everything neatly made up.

Henry stepped around me to open the cupboards and retrieved a large tartan blanket, which he draped across the bed and two towels, which he set in my arms.

He frowned and then leaned to shut the curtains behind me. "Is that all OK?"

He smelt like expensive aftershave, and though I had never understood the appeal of it before, I certainly recognised it was worth the money now. Henry retreated quickly and my cheeks flushed as I realised he had probably just caught me smelling his shoulder. Way to not look like a complete weirdo.

"More than OK, this room is amazing. Thank you so much! And thank you for offering to let me stay the night. I will be out of your hair in no time." I reassured him.

"No worries." He was already making for the door, clearly desperate to get away from me. "I'll see you in the morning."

It had to be so strange for him. Allowing an employee he hardly knew to stay in his home. I opened my mouth to thank him again, but the door had already swung shut, leaving me alone.

The quiet here was different from the quiet in the office, I thought as I perched on the bed.

A homey, comfortable sort of quiet. Pipes rattled, and the wind howled around the building. The sort of safe and warm at home quiet that no one really minded.