Flutters take over my chest and stomach. Not the nervous, giddy kind. These are different. They’re warm, deep, and strong. The speed bumps are gone. I’m not sure they were ever really there.
He brings out a part of me that I felt I had to hide. He doesn’t judge. He just gives me the space to talk, to explore, and a soft place to land. It doesn’t feel like the reckless rush of falling for someone way too soon. It feels like a natural build, a progression. I already feel like we know each other better than Hollis and I ever did.
“How am I supposed to keep my guard up when you say things like that?”
“You don’t have to be on guard with me, Luna.”
“I know. That’s why my best-laid plans lasted all of five minutes.”
The warmth in his eyes tells me he prizes my honesty as much as my surrender.
“To this weekend,” I say, clinking my glass to his. “And deepening our connection.”
When the oven beeps, DK plates the food like a master. A perfect circle of rice, draped with bok choy, the shrimp fannedout on top with the ginger-soy drizzled over it like a dark, glistening waterfall.
“I think you missed your calling.”
He brushes his lips across mine before carrying the plates to the table. He puts on something jazzy from his playlist, and we take our time—lingering over bites, with playful foot touches under the table and lazy grins across it.
Afterward, DK insists on cleaning up. “Why don’t you find an episode ofReal Housewivesfor us?” he suggests.
“You’re not serious.”
“Sure.” He takes my shoulders and points me toward the living room. “I might like it.”
That doesn’t seem remotely possible. This man lives on news cycles and polling data. Reality TV is not on-brand. Still, it’s cute that he wants to experience something I enjoy.
I consider which of the old episodes ofRHOAI should put on. None of the current stuff beats the vintage drama of NeNe, Shereé, and Kim in all their chaotic glory. From the wig shift to the iconic “who gon’ check me, boo,” I’m there for it. But I’d read that the stimuli from screens before bed can make insomnia worse. I’d suggest meditation, but DK already told me he doesn’t like it.
I’m weighing relaxing options when DK drops onto the sofa beside me, holding out a gold-wrapped box I recognize instantly.
“Godiva.” I launch at him, peppering his face with kisses.
“I think I have my answer,” he says, mock offended.
“To what?”
“Earlier.Would You Rather.”
“Oh, right, you or Godiva? You think I’m picking this?” I say, biting into soft-centered ganache, moaning like it’s a spiritual experience.
“Yeah,” he says dryly. “I can’t compete with Belgian chocolate.”
“True.” I lift my legs over his, taking another bite. “This is my first love. But you can be my side piece.”
He captures my foot and tickles me, attacking my most vulnerable spots.
“DK!” I yank away, laughing, twisting out of his grip. “That’s pure evil to use my nighttime confessions against me.”
“Payback for your disrespect,” he says, fighting a grin.
“Aw… don’t be jealous, boo. We can always have a threesome,” I tease, giving him a chocolatey kiss.
The playfulness melts into something tender as he takes my legs back, giving me a foot massage that curls my toes.
“Where’s the show?” he asks.
“It’s late. I thought we could just chill upstairs.”
