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Back at home, I spend the next several hours distracting myself by making an overly elaborate meal for two people, playing with cats and cleaning up their messes, and rethinking my plans a million times until it’s almost six o’clock. I hurry to my bedroom for a quick shower, then throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, no shoes. Keep it casual. Ish. Forget that the table is set like I’m going to propose. I’m ’bout to propose I get on that dick.
I drop the spatula I was holding.
I cannot believe I just thought that. Okay, maybe I can. I might be entering my himbo era. I’ve already gone through my straitlaced era, my busy executive era, and my searching for a sexuality era, so this feels right. Michel’s in his villain era, so that should work out pretty good for me.
Chuckling as I light the candles, I replay that last thought. Michel as a villain. He was so shy and definitely sweet back in high school. I don’t think he could’ve killed a bug on purpose. All he wanted was to be left alone, but his bullies refused. The parents of those bullies, many a teacher, and even other adults around town refused to step in and help. “Boys being boys,” they would say, but when someone is being physically harmed or emotionally humiliated, that’s not just immature kid behavior. I don’t blame Michel one bit for coming back here to put things right.
The door opens and the clacking of dress shoes on marble floors reaches my ears. The kittens react, stumbling and flopping their way across the living room to greet their rescuer. The scene makes my stomach flutter, that these tiny animals are already attuned to his presence.
Mina herself rises, first licking a paw to clean her face, then stretching before languidly swaying across the floor to brush against his leg and meow softly. Michel’s face lights up as he meets my gaze, but then his smile falters when he notices the table.
“What’s this?”
“Dinner. I used to love to entertain. I tend to go a little over the top, obviously.”
He sets a kitten down and walks over to me, eyes trained on the table. I chew on my bottom lip, waiting for him to tell me I’ve lost the plot and to pull it way back.
“This is the nicest thing to happen to me in a long time,” he says, surprising me. “This home, for all its grandeur, was definitely missing a soul.” He turns to face me. “Over the top is perfectly fine with me. Thank you.”
I smile, letting the tension leave my body. “Go shower and whatever. Dinner is almost ready.”
“Wonderful.”
“Oh, do you have a suitable wine to go with chicken marsala?”
“I do. Do I have ten minutes?”
“Yep. I’ll work on the starter.”
His eyebrow goes up, but he smiles. “Fancy.”
As he walks away, I exhale, shaking my hands out. Step one: impress Michel. Seems to have worked.
I busy myself rolling the prosciutto around the cantaloupe slices, arranging them on a white platter before carrying it over to the table. Michel returns moments later, carrying a bottle of red wine and wearing a black t-shirt and—oh fuck—gray sweatpants. Those motherfuckers were integral to discovering my sexuality. Watching men at the gym playing basketball in them, my eyes locked on their junk and my cock swelling, made it clear I could no longer deny my attraction to men.
And now Michel is wearing them. When I drag my eyes up, his are trained on my face, a sexy smirk on his face.
“I brought wine,” he says, his French accent suddenly more prominent than it was.
“Great.” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. “Food is almost ready, but I have a starter.”
“I’ll open the wine.”
I grab a breadbasket from the kitchen, and when I return, Michel is seated and the wine is poured. Damn, he moves fast.
I sit across from him, suddenly nervous about sharing my feelings for him. I watch him as he picks up a piece of cantaloupe and bites into it, closing his eyes as he chews.
“Do you ever wonder about the first person to look at these two ingredients and decide to combine them?” he asks after he swallows.
I chuckle. “Sometimes, but mostly I think about the people who looked at weird stuff like an octopus or an oyster and decided to put that shit in their mouths.”
Michel laughs, his eyes so brilliant they seem to glow. “Very true.”
“Um, so did you find out anything today? About the investor guy.”
“Not yet, but I have a few contacts checking into it for me.”
“What’s your plan after that?”
