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“You made me a real dinner. Set the table and everything.”
I nodded, still confused by his confusion. “Well, yeah. That was the general plan, wasn’t it?”
“And you dressed up. Did your hair and makeup and all.”
I swallowed and nodded again. “Um, yeah.” What was the big deal? I was starting to feel self-conscious.
He shoved a hand through his hair and muttered something that sounded like “I’m such a fuckin’ asshole” before going into the kitchen to see for himself what happened to the pasta.
“You—I?—”
“Michael, what is it?” I followed him in, utterly confused.
Both hands were shoved into his hair now, brown eyes shining. Then he reached out and pulled me to him again.
“Thank you,” he said softly against my lips. “No one’s ever done anything like that for me before.”
“What about Gina?” I asked before considering that maybe I didn’t want to know the answer to that question.
A frown flashed across his face. “Hell fuckin’ no. Gina never does anything for anyone but herself.” He shook his head, like he was shaking away some memory. “I don’t want to think about Gina right now, babe. I don’t want to think about anything but you. Right here.”
A flash of pain—and maybe regret—crossed his face but disappeared as he looked over the kitchen.
“You made me dinner,” he pointed out yet again.
I rolled my eyes. “Most of it’s in the trash. I, um, dumped it out right before you knocked on the door.”
That crooked smile I was starting to love so much appeared. “I deserved that. Is there anything left, or should I get a fork and eat it out of the trash?”
I grimaced. “You would eat pasta out of the garbage?”
The smile shifted into a full-on grin. “If you made it, I would. I would eat dog food if you made it for me, baby girl. I’d be thankful for scraps.”
“Well, no need for that.” I moved for the fridge. “The antipasti made it. And there is still salad on the table, and maybe fusilli left from last night—hey!”
I found myself spun around as the fridge shut behind me. Michael picked me up by the waist and set me on the counter, then settled himself between my legs. One hand snaked around the nape of my neck, bringing me close for a kiss.
Once again, I was left totally breathless.
“Thank you,” he said again. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t here to enjoy what you made. I’m an asshole.”
He kissed me again.
“Yes, you are,” I mumbled, though I was now hungry for more than kisses. “Don’t do it again.”
“Gonna have to make it up to you.” His voice was rough and heavy before he nipped my lower lip.
“Without a doubt.” He tasted like peppermints and ice.
“Everyone’s gone?”
I didn’t think he would stop what he was doing, even if they weren’t.
My fingers slipped through his dark hair. “Yeah, everyone’s gone. It’s just us now.”
A mischievous grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Good.”
In that second, the tortured man living above my grandpa’s garage disappeared. For once, I saw the boy Michael could have been—full of mischief, joy, even a bit of glee.
