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I looked up at Colton. “I can’t help it.”
A longing started in my chest, for Colton, a home, kids, and maybe even a dog. Could he be it for me? Even if we didn’t see eye to eye on everything?
I wanted to believe there was a possibility that he could be mine.
“I can whip up a stir-fry.” Colton moved around the kitchen, grabbing a bag of rice from the pantry, shrimp from the freezer, and veggies from the fridge.
“You make stir-fry?” I asked, surprised.
Measuring the rice, he said, “It’s easy and healthy.”
“I’m impressed.”
“You thought I was just a meat and potatoes kind of guy?”
I laughed. “Pretty much. I guess I judged you too soon.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners as his lips tipped up. “You want to chop vegetables?”
Taking the bag of colorful bell peppers, I said, “I’d love to.”
Grabbing a cutting board and knife, I settled in to cut the veggies. Preparing a meal with Colton felt very domestic.
I’d had boyfriends tell me in the past that I was a little weird. I was a dreamer, not a realist. Yet all I wanted was what anyone wanted: a family, a home, love.
The desire settled in deep, burrowing a hole in my heart, taking root. Hope bloomed in my chest like a balloon expanding, pressing against the walls of my chest.
I placed the veggies in the bowl Colton provided. Then he added them to the pot of simmering oil and garlic. A second pot contained rice.
Unsure of what to do with myself, I stood there, wondering if I should offer to help, but it seemed like he had everything covered. He beckoned me to his side. Placing a hand on his chest, I curled around him, and his arm pulled me in tight.
He kissed my upturned face. “I like you here.”
I smiled, unable to remember a time I’d ever been so content, so happy. “Me too.”
I felt almost giddy with it, like the bubbles that fizzed in soda. I squeezed him tighter, pressing myself against his hard chest, wishing I could melt into him. I wanted to extend this moment as long as I could.
When the food was done, I moved to grab bowls and silverware while he plated the food. Sitting at the counter, we dove in, suddenly starving. I sipped the white wine he’d offered, wondering if this was real.
“I forgot to tell you I talked to Delilah.” There was no good time to bring up my sister, but I needed to tell him that she was okay with us.
“You did?” He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth.
“Yeah. I told her we were seeing each other.” We hadn’t discussed being exclusive, but it seemed that way. I went with feelings, not necessarily labels.
He lowered his fork to his bowl, his brow raised. “And?”
“She’s okay with it.”
“Huh.”
I wondered how much I should add. Should I tell him everything she said? “She said you guys weren’t that serious, if that makes sense. It was a young love that fizzled.”
“We have her blessing?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t think we need that. But she’s not upset. That’s what matters to me.”
He covered my hand with his. “If it’s good enough for you, then I’m good.”
