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“Eat up,” he says with a laugh. “This one at least comes without some guy trying to shove his tongue down your throat.”

“You’re sounding a little concerned about guys pawing or trying to kiss me.” I cut my burger in half, my mouth watering. “I was always the one doing the pawing and chasing,” I add.

“I guess I don’t like the idea of guys taking advantage.”

I roll my eyes. “I was the one taking advantage. I already told you, I never slept with any of them. I’ve never slept with anybody. I got a good night’s sleep, and they got nothing more than kisses and a bit of fondling.”

I take a bite of my burger. The flavours hit me, and I want to moan about how good it tastes. Miles better than the fast-food place we ate at.

“You’re a virgin?”

I chew my food and turn to stare at him. “I am,” I confirm. There’s a flash of something in his expression. It’s gone quickly, but I’m pretty sure it was surprise. “I told you I didn’t have sex with people I went home with.”

“Yeah, but… you’ve never dated anybody?”

“Nope. I saw relationships people had at school, and I knew I don’t have the type of home life I want to introduce people to. I couldn’t take a boyfriend to my house. It’s also difficult to find a guy who would be comfortable with the number of nights I slept at Felix’s house before he went travelling, and comfortable with what I was doing this year, because I doubt most of the guys at school had parents who would let me sneak in and stay the night.”

He gives me another small smile. “Eat up. There’s something sweet for dessert.”

I nod and return to my food. We eat in silence, but it feels comfortable and normal for us.

When the food is gone, I help him clear the plates and wash the pots with him, even though he argues for me to leave them to him. Once everything is tidy, he gestures for me to sit back at the breakfast bar.

“So, what is this something sweet?” I ask.

He looks pleased with himself as he puts two plates, two forks, and a knife on the breakfast bar before sauntering towards the fridge. When he comes back, he’s carrying a metal tin.

“I took a gamble on banoffee pie,” he says.

“You made it?” I laugh. I can’t remember anybody ever making me a dessert. Maybe when I was really young, before my home life turned to shit.

“I did.” He puts the metal tin in front of me before taking a seat. Unclipping a section on the tin, he pulls the raised side section away from the base. His face twists in surprise when the caramel oozes from the base—first a trickle, then a gush of unset caramel, which runs like a river across the breakfast bar.

“I take it that this isn’t supposed to happen?” I manage between a fit of giggles. He looks mortified, but I can’t stop laughing.

He gets up from his seat, rushing for a dishcloth to try to wipe up some of the caramel.

“I have no idea what happened. It said to put it in the fridge to set, and it’s been in the fridge longer than it needed,” he mutters.

“I’m sure some of it is salvageable,” I offer, because he looks a little embarrassed, and I’m sure he went to a lot of effort to make this.

I reach for the knife and manage to cut a slice for each of us, trying not to laugh when the sauce drips as I transfer to our plates.

“Maybe spoons rather than forks,” he suggests. There’s humour in his tone now. He throws the dishcloth into the sink and then grabs two spoons from the drawer.

He stands at the breakfast bar next to me, picking up his spoon and poking at his portion of pie.

“Chicken,” I say with a laugh.

He rolls his eyes before taking a small portion and nodding in appreciation once he’s swallowed it. I scoop up some of the pie, taking a bite, chuckling when a splodge of the sauce drips from the bottom of the spoon and lands on my lower lip. Aside from being a runny, unset consistency, the taste is nice. I glance over at him, one eyebrow raised, amused that he hasn’t taken a second bite.

He doesn’t say anything, and suddenly it doesn’t feel amusing anymore. There’s an odd tension in the air.

Joseph takes a step closer to my seat. He raises his hand and then gently wipes away the banoffee sauce from my face with his thumb. He keeps his gaze on me, and for a second, I’m frozen in place. When he slowly starts to move his hand away, I feel like something has taken over my body because I tilt my head forward and take his thumb into my mouth. He doesn’t pull away, and so I suck the banoffee from the pad of his thumb.

He stares at me, and when I feel like I’m back in control of my senses, I open my mouth. I’m about to apologise, but before I can say anything, he presses his thumb against my bottom lip.

“Delilah,” he murmurs. “What would you do if I kissed you?” He drops his hand from my lips, and his eyes search mine. His head is slightly positioned to the right, and it reminds me of how he used to look when teaching, waiting for somebody in the class to answer a question.