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Smiling, I shake my head. “Are you five? No one’s going to steal your cookies, Tyler. But I’ll make you a labeled box, don’t worry,” I say sweetly.
“Thanks, sugar.” He winks, flashing me a wide grin.
He’s too damn cute when he’s like this.
“So, what kind of pizza are you making? Please don’t try any weird experiments on me.”
“Not unless you consider pepperoni or spinach and feta an experiment.”
“No, that sounds delicious,” I say in a rush, my stomach growling at the thought.
He smiles, his eyes sparkling at my excitement. “Want something to drink? Wine? Beer? Water? Soda?”
“Wine, please. I can grab it, though.” Hopping down from the stool, I grab a bottle from the wine shelf next to the fridge that’s nestled between two cabinets.
Uncorking the bottle with practiced ease, I add a little flourish to the pop of the cork as I pull it out, making him laugh.
“Do that often?”
“It’s a part of the waitress skillset. Not the flourish, of course. That’s all me.” I smile. “I think the patrons would have had heart attacks if I did anything to bring attention to myself at the restaurant.”
“What do you mean?”
“I worked at a very expensive, fancy, 5-star restaurant, and I was meant to blend into the background. I was just supposed to do my job as a server, and that’s it. Minimal talking and interaction.”
He stops kneading the dough on the counter and stares at me. “That sounds awful.”
I shrug. “Not always, but mostly. The money was good, but I hated being treated like a…thing? I don’t know. I hated being told I had to be invisible and proper at all times.”
“You should never be invisible,” he tells me seriously. “You stand out like a rare bird, El. Beautiful and colorful.”
“Thank you,” I say softly, caught off guard by his unique compliment.
Like he realized what he just said, Tyler clears his throat and goes back to kneading the dough, this time with a little more vigor than necessary.
I hold up the bottle. “Do you want a glass, too?”
“No, I’ll have a beer when I’m finished, thanks.”
Nodding, I go and sit back at the island, and by the time he puts the pizzas in the oven, I’ve already downed two glasses of wine and am on to my third.
“Thank you for tonight,” I tell him, staring at my finger rubbing circles on the marble countertop.
When I chance a look at him, I find him leaning against the sink, taking a long drag from a bottle of beer, his eyes on me.
“I was doing my job.”
“Oh, right, of course. I just mean…you know, the other stuff. I didn’t get to properly say thank you. For being my friend,” I make sure to add at the end.
His eyes scan my face. “You scared me tonight, El. I saw it was the café’s alarm and I started freaking the fuck out. I knew you were there working late, and I couldn’t get to you fast enough.”
I blink, in shock. “Tyler…”
“It felt like my stomach bottomed out thinking you may have been in real trouble,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
What?
Without thinking, I walk over and stand bravely before him with the confidence that he cares. “Kiss me.”
