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He wants me to come back! Hell yes!
I turned to him, trying to smile, but ended up yawning again.
"Come on, let's go to bed," he urged. "You're tired."
"Actually... I'm a bit hungry."
"You didn't eat much. Didn't you like the dinner?"
"I did. But I was a bit nervous, and I didn't have an appetite."
"Because of me?" he asked with a wry smile.
I tapped my lips, trying not to grin. "Let me think. Maybe it was because of the hot waiter who kept bringing us weird drinks." His eyes turned cold at that. "Of course it was because of you."
But he didn't relax right away. He kept scrutinizing my face as if searching for signs that I was telling him the truth.
"Come on, I'll feed you," he said finally.
"What’s your favorite delivery around here?"
"I'll find something for you in the fridge."
My eyes widened. "What? You have food?"
"Why the surprise?"
"I don't know. You just don't strike me as the type who has any food at home."
He laughed. "Believe it or not, I actually cook. Learned it from Dad. He said that early in his relationship with my mom, he realized that if he didn't want to eat burned or uncooked food for the rest of his life, he'd better take over.”
"Oh, that's so cute,” I said. My heart was happy hearing him talk about his parents. "Your parents sound wonderful."
"They are. Dad said he never truly had the heart to tell her that she was a terrible cook, so instead he simply took the reins in the kitchen."
"How long ago did she pass away?" I asked.
"Four years.”
"I'm sorry for your loss."
He took my hand, walking slightly in front of me as we went to the kitchen. This felt heavenly. I was wearing his robe, he just had boxers on, and now he was leisurely taking me to the kitchen to give me food.
I almost felt uncomfortable with how easy it was. I wasn't used to this. Things with Malcolm had never been easy. Everything had always been a negotiation or a fight. If I wanted something, I was being unreasonable every single time. Eventually, I stopped wanting things or asking for romantic dates or getaways.
Some days I was still mad at myself for staying with him for as long as I did. My dating experience afterward wasn't anything to brag about either.
He opened the fridge and asked, "How hungry are you?"
"I don't know. I think I could wait for a bit. Why? What do you have in mind? Should we order after all?"
"No, I was thinking about making a quiche if you like that."
My eyes bulged, and I couldn't form words.
He looked at me over his shoulder. "Reese?"
"Sorry. I was too stunned to answer. You want to make a quiche now?"
