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“I’ll get it.” He leans down to kiss my neck before releasing me, and he smells like him. Fresh rain, the cold snap of new snow, and all man.
I moan at the loss of him. Why did I say food first? Just then my stomach growls, and Tom saunters back into the kitchen chuckling. “I don’t believe you.”
Spinning on my heel, I face him. “What?”
He holds up the take-out bag from a local burger joint. We don’t order from there often—maybe twice since we’ve moved in—but the burgers are good.
Head down, he peers into the bag. “To think about all the times you gave me grief and now look at you.”
Tom pulls out the two wrapped burgers and then not one or two, but three cartons of French fries. “Three? Are all these for me?” he asks in such a way that he already knows the answer.
My lips mash together, and I’m loath to say it out loud but he’s making me. “I was hungry. One is for you. One for me and I thought maybe, if you’re good, we’ll share the third. But if not, I’ll eat them.
At first he gawks but only for a beat before his head falls back and he belts out a hearty laugh. “I always knew I’d convert you.”
“What can I say?” Smiling slyly, I snag a fry from the box and hold it up between us. “Who can resist this yummy golden goodness?”
“Hey.” With his shaggy blond hair falling over his forehead and ever-present smile firmly in place, Tom moves to stand in front of me. Both his hands cup my elbows, holding me there, as his expression sobers. “You’re talking about me, right? Not the fry.”
