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“I’m not doing anything,” I called to her as she left the room, tossing back a wicked grin as she went.
I followed her, scooping up my t-shirt as I went, but I stayed a few steps behind her.
Mia hurried back out to the garden and grabbed her phone from the little vine covered patio tucked in the corner of the yard. I watched from the doorway, my shirt still tucked in my fist as she checked her phone, shielding the screen from the evening sunset as she tried to see it. She typed on it, like she was texting, then she eventually turned to me and smiled before making her way back.
“Everything ok?” I asked as she approached.
“Yeah, I just needed to respond to Clea. She texted me two hours ago.”
The blush on her cheek was fucking adorable. It was those moments that reminded me just how young she was.
“I was a little distracted,” she added, as if I couldn’t read between the lines that we were fucking when that text came in.
I raised an eyebrow and nodded, sliding over to the side so she could pass back into the sun room that led into the main part of the house.
Demands that we sit and talk about what happened stayed at the tip of my tongue as Mia headed back into the house, but I bit it all back down. I could live with uncertainty for one day. Instead, I needed to live in the moment and just…live.
“Hungry?” I asked, closing the door and snapping the lock closed before I passed her, making my way to the kitchen.
“Actually, I am,” she agreed.
We’d had a late lunch, not that Mia actually ate much of it. I figured she would be hungry after our…vigorous activities.
“Good. Come sit at the bar and I’ll cook for you,” I told her, pointing my finger at the bar stools.
She obeyed, but it was odd seeing someone sitting there that was over four feet tall. Usually the boys had breakfast there on the weekends.
“Do you want help?” she asked, leaning on her elbow. “I’m not completely helpless in the kitchen.”
“You can,” I offered. “Or you can sit your ass down and let me pamper you.”
Mia laughed, then leaned back in the stool to watch.
“You really know how to cook?” she asked, her hands framing her cheeks while she leaned forward in anticipation.
“How do you think a single man manages to survive?” I countered.
“Takeout?” She quirked a brow at me.
“Ew, nobody can live off takeout and fast food and stay healthy.”
Mia giggled at that, then proceeded to watch my every move while I assembled simple fried rice with a plethora of veggies. She was quiet while I worked, methodically chopping scallions, carrots, kale and zucchini. When the veg hit the hot pan, Mia jumped at the sound, but settled back in, head leaning against her arm again as her eyes drooped with exhaustion.
“You’re quiet,” I told her while sliding the plate in front of her.
She smiled up at me.
“Sorry, I guess I’m just pooped.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I told her.
“I will probably need to go home after dinner. I can’t keep my freaking eyes open.”
I mulled over what I’d say next, not sure if I wanted to offer what I was fucking dying to offer. Didn’t have to really think about it, though. The words came spewing out of my mouth, anyway.
“Stay. You don’t have to leave.”
Her eyes got so big at the prospect, shock staring back at me in her eyes.
