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Minutes later, knowing I was in for a long night unless we got invited to his parents’ again, I trudged up the steps to our third floor apartment, feeling as if it were the fiftieth level. The two flights up seemed longer than usual today.
“Maybe, you should see if Mr. Anderson has any first-floor walk-ups available,” I panted to myself, blaming being winded on wearing heels, being tired, and a long day at work. I wasn’tthatout of shape. I jogged. Sometimes.
Outside my door, I paused, steeling myself for whatever was on the other side. If Axel had trashed the place, I would kill him.
“Unlikely. He wasn’t here all day,” I muttered. “You sure heard enough about his activities.”
The door swung open before I could put the key in the lock. Axel. He looked mouthwatering in worn jeans and a heather-gray thermal shirt, the sleeves pushed up his muscular forearms.
“Thought I heard something. You talking to yourself?” he asked, looking past me to see if someone else was around. His dark-eyed gaze swung back to me, making me feel melty inside. Again. Damn it.
“No. Just hung up my phone,” I lied, not wanting to admit I’d been talking to myself.
He backed up, swinging the door open farther. “Come in.”
I ignored that he’d just invited me intomy ownhome and brushed past him. An immediate sizzle burned through my arm at the featherlight contact. My breath sucked in, and I closed my eyes, to steady myself as blood seemed to rush to my center. Dang it. I mean, come on. This was getting ridiculous. I couldn’t get aroused whenever I was near him. I wouldn’t survive the week.
“I figured you’d be tired from work,” he said, taking my things from me and setting them on the console table while I slipped off my coat. “I made dinner. One of my mom’s recipes, so it has the Molly Pendleton certification of being good.”
I laughed and dropped my outerwear onto a coat tree hook. “You know… Using her recipe doesn’t guarantee it’s edible. I’ve seen the results of your efforts before.”
With a faux gasp, his hand flattened over his heart as if I’d wounded him, then he joined me in my mirth. “I’ve gotten better. I promise. I cook for myself all the time now. It’s either that or go out to eat every meal. That’s bad for my training and gets old pretty quick. I’ve practically memorized my mom’sEveryday Mealscookbook.”
He cooked now. And he’d cooked for me. A warm fuzzy sensation fell over me, partially smothering my mad.
“I’m kind of impressed,” I admitted with reluctance. “I’ll hold judgment until I try dinner, though. What did you make?”
“Stuffed chicken breasts in a white wine sauce with baby potatoes, steamed green beans and artisan bread—I bought the bread, so if nothing else, that will be good.”
“It sounds amazing.”
His lip curled between his teeth, and he gave a slight nod, clearly pleased I wasn’t stomping away into my bedroom this evening. “I have seating for two right this way when you’re ready.”
He swept an arm toward the kitchenette. From here, I could see he’d set the table with nice dishes. He’d placed a couple lit candles and a fishbowl vase of short-stemmed flowers in the center. So romantic. And so similar to how we’d tried to make mac and cheese seem special back in the day.
I swallowed hard. Romantic. I should leave and avoid this, refusing his gesture.
My head shook. No, I should just suck it up and have dinner with him. Yeah, he was clearly making the effort to woo me. He wouldn’t succeed, but I was hungry—for food and spending more time with him.
Despite my resolve, I wassocaving. So, so, so caving. Being angry was exhausting. Unhealthy. Maybe, instead, we could at least come away from this week as friends. Maybe…
“Just…give me a minute. I want to change out of my work clothes.”
“Okay. Wine? I can pour while you change.”
And I bet he’d gotten my favorite sweet Riesling. Judging from the hopeful gleam in his eyes that said he’d spent a lot of time planning tonight, I knew I was right, even without asking.
“Yes. Please. I’ll be right back.”
Bees buzzing through me, ratcheting up all my awareness, I hurried into my bedroom. Closing the door, I leaned against the wood and shut my eyes, my back and palms the smooth surface as if to ground myself.
My heart raced, and I could barely catch my breath. Why did I feel like a giddy teen about to go on her first date?
This was Axel. My ex. The guy who’d left me behind, left me alone.
But he’d made me dinner, and screw it. I planned to enjoy the hell out of the meal and his company. For tonight. Tonight only. He’d leave in a few days, and who knew? I probably wouldn’t see him for another six years. This time, he wouldn’t leave behind more than just me, far more than he knew.
My excitement dulled at that thought.
