Dominic’s dad was an amazing cook. I couldn’t recall a dish of his that I didn’t absolutely love. I’ve even attempted to replicate some, using the internet as my guide, but I’ve never come close.
I joined Dominic in the kitchen, and lifted the lid off the pressure cooker, inspecting the inside.
He looked nervous. “I cheated and used a pressure cooker, but it should taste similar.” His gaze dropped to the floor. “Probably not as good.”
A lump sat heavy in my throat. Food was probably how he felt connected to his dad.
I gave him a soft smile. “I bet it tastes exactly the same.”
He smiled back, like he needed to hear that.
We ate dinner together in the dining room. The conversation was light, surface level, but so easy I almost forgot all the reasons it was a bad idea.
We cleaned up the kitchen together. He tried to shoo me out, but I insisted. Wiping countertops, washing pans, loading the dishwasher—it all felt so normal. It felt couple-y. It felt right.
Later that night, all I could think about was how much I wanted to do it again.
And that was a problem.
So, tonight, I’m redirecting things. I have a plan.
Girls’ night. It also happens to be my birthday, even though I never celebrate it anymore.
All I know, is I need some space from Dominic, and I need some time with my girls. A night where I don’t have to think about some stalker who may or may not exist, or my ex, holedup in my house, or the fact that said ex is getting harder and harder to resist.
I’m dragging Ariana and Layla out to The Jackalope, and Marisa is joining us.
I need this. Desperately. Some time to breathe—to feel normal again.
There’s only one small obstacle.
I have to convince Dominic to let me go without locking me in here, or worse, tagging along.
I find him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter drinking an energy drink. His head is tipped back, working down a swallow. His dark eyes stare at me as I approach, immediately narrowing in that way that makes my skin tingle when he notices my outfit.
“What?” I cross my arms, my defenses rising.
“Is that my birthday present?” he asks, eyes giving me a heated once over. “Because if it is, I approve.”
His burning gaze roams over me again. It lingers on my exposed legs before slowly dragging up to the deep V of my dress. I’m not wearing a bra, not as if there’s much to look at in that department anyway, but it still sends my stomach into a dive.
“No,” I scoff. “It’s girls’ night. I’m going out with Marisa and my sisters. And you can’t come.”
He straightens, all six-foot-two of him radiating disapproval. “Not happening.”
I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You’re not going out.”
“Yes, I am.” My voice hardens. “Last I checked, I’m a grown ass woman who can do whatever the hell she wants, and the last person I’m going to let tell me what to do is you.”
“Are you suffering from amnesia? Did you forget someone has been stalking you and vandalized your car?” His voice is infuriatingly calm. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”
I scoff. “Safe from what? It’s been a week. Nothing’s happened. Whoever it was is likely gone. I refuse to put my life on hold just because you’re paranoid.”
A muscle in his jaw tics and I can tell it’s taking everything in him to not boil over. “A week of silence doesn’t mean shit. I’m not being paranoid. I’m taking it seriously, which is what you should be doing instead of putting yourself at risk. It’s foolish behavior.”
Foolish.
