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After a few seconds, I pull away, and this time when I look at him, I can see the change. He’s found the peace he needed, and it makes my own shoulders uncoil.
Despite the change of mood, Cain continues to take care of me, wash me, and then, when the shower is done, he wraps a fluffy towel around me and leads me to my bed.
We both lie in bed, and this time when he kisses me, it’s slow and sensual. There is no rush. No frenzy. No, this time, it’s everything it should be at the moment, exactly what we both need as he slowly makes love to me. Worshiping every inch of my body with sweet, slow caresses.
The connection we have doesn’t need words. We rise and fall together as if our bodies have always belonged together.
Sometime later, my eyes flutter open, and I realize I must have fallen asleep. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I look around the room.
I can’t find Cain anywhere.
Did he leave?
I start to sit up, feeling myself sink at the notion that he did, but then I hear a sound in the kitchen.
Standing from the bed, I see my robe laying on the edge of the bed, and a smile spreads across my face as I realize Cain left it there for me.
Slipping the robe on, I make my way into the kitchen, where I find him.
He’s dressed in his pants and no shirt, and my face warms at the sight. He’s chopping up vegetables when I come up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. “What are you doing?”
“Making us dinner.”
“I am hungry.” I snuggle in closer.
“I figured you were.”
“What are you making?” I drop my hands and step back; he turns from the counter to face me.
“Well, it was slim pickings in here.”
Crossing my arms at my chest, I do my best to give him my most over-the-top eye roll. “Yeah, well, some of us are super busy writing articles on this super weird architect.”
He lifts his brow. “Super weird, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Does he have any redeemable qualities?”
Lifting my hand, I mockingly look at my nails as if this conversation is boring me. “Nah.”
“Nothing?” His hand reaches out and trails his index finger across my neck. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, well, there is this thing he does with his tongue.”
His movements stop, and I want to beg him to continue. “Do tell.”
I roll my eyes. “What did you find in my pathetic kitchen?” He drops his hand, turns to grab something off the counter, and then lifts a box of store-bought dried pasta. I grimace; who knows how long that thing has been in my pantry.
“Pasta and a few vegetables.”
“Simple. Plain.” I shrug.
“Not because of me,” he chides as he moves back to his chopping. Cain looks like a natural in the kitchen. Is there anything this man can’t do?
It’s almost annoying how perfect he is. “Curious minds want to know if this were your place and had actual food, what would you make?”
“Still pasta, but something with artichokes and lemon. Not just cheese.”
“Again. Busy here.” I motion dramatically, hands flailing, to myself.
“It’s fine. I’d happily eat shit to be able to spend time with you.” His words take me by surprise, making me feel warm and fuzzy inside.
Cain moves back toward the counter, lifting a spoon, and I watch him stir the sauce.
“What’s your favorite food?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” He moves away from the sauce to the other pot, and then he adds the pasta to the boiling water.
“Well, if you don’t know that, how about what’s your favorite dish to cook, then?”
“I don’t know,” he says again.
I sigh. “You’re not really helping me here, Cain.”
“As long as I’m cooking for you . . . anything will be my favorite.”
At that, I swear I melt.
This isn’t good.
Any time I spend with him will make it harder when he will eventually leave.
I smile up at him.
Play it cool. Don’t show him how much his words are affecting you. Because that’s the thing. I’m falling for him, and I’m scared because I know he’s going to leave. What will happen to my heart then?
I move away from him and go to grab a bottle of white wine from the fridge.
“Do you want some?”
“No, thank you,” he responds, and that’s when something hits me.
“You don’t drink, do you?” He had a glass at the party, but I never saw him lift it to his lips.
“No. I don’t.”
“Is there a reason for that?”
“I don’t like to lose control,” he says before he turns around again.
I sit at the small table and watch him. I like how he meanders through my kitchen like he’s been here a million times. It feels right, and another pang of worry creeps in. His eyes lift, and when they meet mine, he smiles.
