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I’m practically humming with excitement by the time I reach his doorstep. His building is an old, well-kept Tudor Victorian, sage green with cream-colored trim.
He answers the door a few seconds after I knock, dressed casually in jeans and a tee shirt. His smile is equal parts welcoming and seductive. I note the blue dish towel slung over his shoulder.
Gavin steps aside to let me in. “Hey, beautiful.”
“Hi.” My cheeks warm. “Sorry if I’m late, my class let out later than I expected—”
“You’re right on time.”
As soon as the door clicks shut, he cups my jaw and kisses me. I hum with pleasure as my back meets the wall. I’m warm all over, especially in the areas that count. I press against his front, aware of the growing bulge in his jeans, as his palms glide up and down my sides.
He draws back with a low groan. “You make it dangerously easy to forget what’s pertinent.”
“What could be more pertinent than making out with me?”
“Making sure I don’t burn your dinner.” He kisses my forehead, then motions for me to follow him through the sharply appointed living room. I take in his furnishings: the leather club chair, the L-shaped sofa, and widescreen television. It’s not a large space, but he’s managed to strike a nice balance between modern and cozy.
And it does smellreallygood in here. Like bacon and vanilla.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he says.
“Famished. What are you making?”
“You’ll see,” he says.
The kitchen is modest in size but fitted with state-of-the-art, stainless-steel appliances and stone countertops. I spot the waffle maker by the sink and the bacon frying on the stovetop.
My breath hitches on its way into my chest. He’s making my birthday breakfast.
“I love waffles.”
Gavin smiles. “I know.”
I shrug off my coat and hang it on the back of a chair. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You can pour yourself something to drink. There’s juice in the fridge and fresh coffee in the pot.”
I find where he keeps his mugs and pour myself a cup of coffee with sugar, then take a seat at the tall pub table in the corner, already set for two.
Gavin teases a golden-brown waffle out of the iron and deposits it on a tray in the oven already piled high with more of the same. My mouth waters. Within minutes, the bacon is ready, eggs are fried, and he’s setting plates of steaming-hot breakfast for dinner on the table.
“Butter and syrup?” He doesn’t bother waiting for my response to fetch them because he knows the answer’s yes.
He claims the seat across from me and we dig in. The first bite is so good, I almost melt out of my chair.
“You’re a wizard,” I tell him. “Admit it. There’s no other explanation for how you managed to get your waffles this fluffy.”
“The trick is beating the egg whites separately and then folding them in.”
“Like I said, sorcery.” I spoon some fresh blueberries into the golden-brown craters, then top them with more maple syrup. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just be over here making porn noises over my plate.”
“I’ll never complain about you making porn noises.”
I match his roguish grin, then sigh contentedly as his leg brushes mine under the table. This is the date we were supposed go on two weeks ago, before I walked into his classroom and made everything more complicated than it already was.
“Do you still make yourself waffles on your birthday?” he asks.
I sip my coffee and nod. “My dad helped me make them this year.”
