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His casual tone clashed with the tension brewing in the air, but I simply said the first thing that came to mind.
“Pringles. Classic.”
There was no answer like the truth.
I discreetly tugged my top down while Dante reached into the cabinet above my head. The tiny breeze from his movement brushed my skin.
Goosebumps pebbled, and something hot coiled in my stomach.
He retrieved an unopened can of chips and handed it to me without a word.
“Thank you.” I clutched the tube, unsure what to do next.
Part of me wanted to escape to the safety of my room. The other part wanted to stay and see how long I could play with fire without getting burned.
“Pringles, pickles, and pudding.” Dante saved me from a decision. “Interesting combination.”
Relief loosened the knot in my chest. My breath came out easier now that I had something to focus on other than my body’s unwilling reaction to his.
“They taste good together. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.” I took control of my limbs again and sidestepped him on my way to the island.
The touch of his gaze followed me, an insistent pressure on the small of my back.
I opened the can of Pringles.Don’t turn around.
“Apologies. Far be it from me to question your snack choices.” A trace of dry amusement ran through his voice.
I heard the fridge open behind me, followed by the clink of silverware and theclickof a shutting cabinet door.
A minute later, Dante slid onto the stool beside me.
My mouth parted when he began assembling his snack.
“You make fun of me for my food choices but you’re pouringsoy sauceover ice cream?”
The earlier tension retreated in the face of my shock.
Forget the way his muscles flexed with each movement or the way his shirt hugged his torso.
He was committing a crime against humanity right before my eyes.
“Drizzling, not pouring. And don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Dante mocked, throwing my earlier words back at me. “I bet it tastes better than the abomination you put together.”
His brow hitched at the chip in my hand, which I’d dipped in pudding and topped with a pickle.
My eyes narrowed at the silent challenge.
“I doubt it.” I lifted his hand and dropped my lovingly assembled snack in his open palm. He stared at it like it was a piece of old gum stuck to his shoe. “Let’s swap and see who’s wrong and who’s right.”
I pulled his bowl toward me with a small grimace.
I loved ice cream and I loved soy sauce…separately.Some things weren’t meant to mix, but I was willing to choke it down to make my point.
Namely, I was right, and he was wrong.
“I’m always right,” Dante said. He eyed me and then my snack with a hint of intrigue. “Fine. I’ll bite. On the count of three.”
I almost asked if the pun was on purpose before I remembered his sense of humor was more underdeveloped than a toddler’s vocabulary.
