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“Isn’t this cozy?” Felicia asked me as she snuggled up alongside me in bed.
It was, but I wasn’t going to give it to her that easily. “You have a show about serial killers on. I don’t think that qualifies as cozy.”
The bedroom was warm though and despite her call for joggers on our walk, she had taken a hot shower and put on one of her silk nightgowns, so her bare leg was draped over mine. She’d made herself tea and her breath smelled like ginger. She’d said it was to settle her stomach.
It was all really damn domestic and yes, cozy.
“It’s called compromise. That’s what relationships are all about.”
“How is that compromise?” I asked, wrapping my arm around her head and pulling her in closer on my chest. “You agreed to no murder shows in the bedroom and here we are watching some guy do some really bloody shit. And I see blood all the time at work, so if I’m disturbed, it’s disturbing.”
I’d preferred to read the book when it came to true crime. I didn’t need the crime scene photos and reenactments.
“If it bothers you that much, feel free to change it,” she said, though it sounded like she thought I was a massive wimp. “Though remember we’re supposed to be showing each other our true selves.”
“Thank you.” I grabbed the remote and switched it to the basketball game.
“Basketball?” she said, sounding as disgusted as I felt over discussion of serial killer cannibalism.
“Yep.” I kissed the top of her head. “This is my true self. Love it or leave it.”
She stiffened against me. The words were far weightier than I had intended them to be. I was going to open my mouth and retract the words, or attempt to explain them away, when she propped herself up on my chest and stared intently at me.
“Michael?”
“Yes?” I waited, still, unable to read her expression.
“I’m feeling more inclined to love it than leave it these days,” she murmured.
That made my gut tighten. “Glad to hear it,” I said gruffly.
So maybe she was falling in love with me at the same time I was falling in love with her.
Felicia gave me a mysterious smile that did all kinds of things to my insides.
I picked up the remote. “Play ID TV,” I said to it. The TV changed the channel back to her murder show.
She laughed and kissed me. “Thank you.”
“Whatever.”
That made her laugh even louder.
* * *
“So have you ever been married or engaged before?” Gloria asked me, spreading a thin layer of artisan butter over her focaccia bread.
It was a fair question and one that presumably would have come up more conversationally if Michael and I had been dating for a year. But it still caught me a little off guard.
“No, neither.” Then because there was no reason to hide the truth, I said, “My last partner failed to mention he had a wife already. It was more than a bit awkward when she reached out to me. So I stepped away from dating for a while because it was very upsetting to have been made a cheat without my knowledge.”
“Well, you weren’t the cheat. Her husband was. You couldn’t have known.”
“No, I suppose not. There really weren’t any red flags. But the time alone was good for me.”
Gloria was scrutinizing me intently.
Why did I get the sudden feeling she was on to us?
