“No regrets.”
Summer takes off her jacket, leaves her bag on the counter, and gets comfortable on a seat by the kitchen island. She expects me to cook? For real?
“Honey, worst-case scenario if I cook—I lose a couple of those fingers you love so much. Best case—I give us food poisoning. We don’t want either, do we?”
She gives me a dramatic eyeroll and moves to get behind the counter, while I take her place.
“My mom used to give us food poisoning every time she tried to cook.”
“Is that the reason you learned how to do that instead?”
“That...” Summer glances at me with a playful glint in her eyes. “And I’m half Italian, you know. It’s in my blood.”
“Sooo only half of you is a demon?”
I get a kitchen towel in my face.
Summer takes parsley from the fridge and rinses it off. Thenshe grabs a big ass knife, balancing it on one finger between the blade and the handle, before flipping it a couple of times so skillfully, I’m tempted to try that myself. She moves with such dexterity and precision, fast-chopping the parsley, that she could put a chef to shame.
“That’s why you’re so skilled with the knife,” I say under my breath, because, truth be told, I had other ideas in mind for that particular skill of hers.
“Well, yeah, what did you think? That I’m good with a knife because I go around carving people up?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” I retort, only to receive a second kitchen towel in my face.
Then Summer’s back to business, warmth and joy radiating from every move, leaving no doubt that cooking is her happy place.
My heartbeat stutters as her words from the party replay in my mind, and it hits me. She said she only cooked for the people she loved. Does that mean... ?
“Summer—” She doesn’t spare me a glance, an absentminded hum being the single indicator she heard me. “You’re cooking.”
“Mhm.” She tilts her head, glancing at me from under thick lashes. “What an astute observation, Sherlock!” Then her attention shifts back to the task at hand.
“For me.”
Her whole body goes rigid, not a single muscle daring to move, leaving the space around us void of any sound whatsoever. Even her breathing halts until a sharp, shaky inhale breaks the silence. She doesn’t let go of the knife, she doesn’t look at me, she does nothing to give me a preview of all those emotions battling inside her, fighting for control.
Good. Let it hit her.
I’ll force her to face what she feels for me, leaving her no routes to escape.
Chapter 34
Atlas
“Tell me, am I the exception to your rule, or do I confirm it?”
“I—” she starts, but chokes down the rest. “I think...”
The words die out once more. She can’t admit the truth I already know, but unlike her, I’m not afraid to do so.
I push the chair back as I stand, striding toward her until I’m a single step away.
“Is it that hard to admit it? Or do you think I don’t feel the same?”
She puts the knife down, wipes her hands on a kitchen towel, and finally turns to look at me, but her lips stay sealed tight.
“I asked you to move in with me, not even knowing if the name I call you—the one I’ve screamed in my head a thousand times already—is real. Isn’t that clue enough? Or maybe the fact that I’m ready to kill for you would be a clearer indicator? Every second, you’re in my head, reminding me how completely you belong with me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. So tell me, are those hints too subtle for you?”
