Page 112 of Serving Bunt

“My house, my corn.”

Diaz’s fingers walked up Matty’s thigh. “Don’t play with me, tesoro.”

“You love it when I play with you.”

“You want to play? Okay. I’ll trade you a fact about myself for every piece of popcorn you feed me.”

Matty raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Deal.”

He plucked a single kernel from the bowl and held it to Diaz’s lips. Diaz took it gently, eyes locked on Matty’s when the tip of his tongue slicked over Matty’s fingers.

“I like watching you bake.”

Matty rolled his eyes. “I already know that.”

“But you don’t know why I like watching you bake. You get this little crease between your eyebrows when you’re concentrating. It’s fucking adorable.”

Matty’s cheeks flushed, but he smiled. “I appreciate the flattery, but I was hoping for something more personal.”

“More personal than wanting to lick the crease between your eyebrows?” He bit back a smile when a blush crept up Matty’s neck. “Popcorn me.”

Matty fed him another piece.

“I’m terrified of thunderstorms,” Diaz said softly.

“Since when?”

“Since I can remember. Even as a kid, I hated them.”

Matty’s expression softened. This time, he tossed a kernel into the air, and Diaz caught it on his tongue.

“I cried during the finale of The Good Place,” Diaz continued, crunching down on his salty prize. “And I’m talking full-on ugly cried. I had to pause it twice.”

Another kernel. Another smile.

“I keep a box of every ticket stub from every movie I’ve ever seen. Even the bad ones.”

Matty’s heart flipped over in his chest. When he fed him the next piece, he let his fingers linger against Diaz’s lips.

Diaz caught his wrist gently.

“Oh, there’s one more thing,” he said, every ounce of playfulness slipping out of his tone. “I am so out of my mind, ass over heels in love with you, Matty Miller. Not the version I wrote about in all those stories, but the real Matty Miller. The man who alphabetizes his spice rack and can quote The Princess Bride on command. The man who makes this house feel like home.”

Matty stared at him, popcorn forgotten.

The movie continued playing in the background, but the only thing he could hear was the steady beat of his own heart.

“Yeah?” he whispered.

“Yeah.”

Without missing a beat, Diaz leaned over and kissed him. There was no teasing, no playful challenge to his kiss. Just the quiet, certain press of lips that felt like a promise. A promise of lazy mornings tangled in sheets and a lifetime of nights like this on the couch with Mo snoring between them. Of every ordinary, beautiful day they would get to build together from here on out.

When they finally pulled apart, Diaz rested their foreheads together. “Come to bed with me, tesoro. Let me show you how much I love you.”

I stared at the screen for a long moment, throat tight. It wasn’t a long story, and yet it felt like . . . everything. A love letter wrapped in the style of the stories that had once confused the hell out of me, and then helped me understand myself.

I set the phone aside.