“The spaghetti’s getting cold,” she said softly, voice still a little breathless.
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. A full, unguarded laugh that broke through the tension like sunlight through clouds.
“Mel,” I said, brushing a thumb across her cheek, “there’s no wayanythingin this apartment is getting cold after a kiss like that.”
She rolled her eyes, though I caught the smile tugging at her mouth. “You’re so corny.”
“Corny?” I echoed. “That’s what you got from that?”
“Don’t ruin your streak,” she teased, trying to step back.
I caught her wrist before she could. “What streak?”
“The one where you say something ridiculously smooth and somehow make it work.”
“Ah,” I said, tugging her a little closer again. “You mean my charm.”
“Your arrogance,” she corrected.
“Same thing.”
She was smiling now—soft, shy, dangerous. The kind of smile that made me want to say something stupid just to keep her looking at me like that.
Before she could think of another comeback, I leaned in and kissed her again.
Slower this time.
No urgency, no rush…just warmth. A promise.
She melted against me, her laughter caught between our mouths, and for a moment, everything outside the walls of that tiny apartment stopped mattering. The snow could’ve buried the whole damn town, and I wouldn’t have noticed.
When we finally broke apart again, she rested her forehead against my chest, her breath still unsteady.
“You’re going to burn the garlic bread,” she murmured.
I glanced at the oven timer, which was somehow still ticking. “Worth it.”
She swatted my arm lightly. “You’re driving me bonkers.”
“Still sounds like a compliment.”
“Drew,” she warned, but there was no bite left in it.
“Melanie,” I said, smiling into her hair. “You’ve been either ignoring me or barking at me for months. I think I’ve earned a little flirtation time.”
She tilted her head up to look at me. “Don’t push it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
We stood there another beat, just watching each other, the silence between us filled with the soft hum of the heater and the muffled whistle of wind outside.
But she shook her head like she was shaking off a spell and took the bread out of the oven.
“All right,” she said, stepping back, though I noticed her fingers lingered against mine before she let go. “Dinner. Before you make another cheesy comment.”
“Too late,” I said, grinning. “Pretty sure the entire night’s been a cheesy comment.”
She snorted and grabbed the pasta bowl from the counter. “Then it’s on brand.”
