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I find some hamburger patties in the freezer and toss them into a pan on the stove. I make a tossed salad and find some hamburger buns in the pantry. Throw some cheese on the burgers after I flip them and voila—dinner.
Everything is waiting when Caleb strolls in. The clothes he started the day in are kind of wrinkled but he looks fresh-from-the-shower delectable. His dark hair is still damp and makes small curls around his neck.
"I hope you're hungry," I say looking at him. This feels unbelievably domestic. And comfortable. What would it be like to make him dinner every night?
And never perform again? Never sing for the throngs of screaming fans?
"I'm hungry for lots of things," he says, giving me a wolfish grin and grabbing me by the hips and drawing me to him for a hard kiss that leaves me breathless.
"Um, I m-made cheeseburgers," I stammer when he lifts his mouth from mine.
"Smells delicious," he says, though he's got his face buried in my neck and takes a deep inhale of the area below my ear when he says that.
"Come on," I say, stepping away from him. "Dinner's ready."
Before I can change my mind I grab a couple of plates and fill them with our burgers and salad and set them on the table.
"This looks fantastic," Caleb says, giving my hand a squeeze. "Thank you."
"Well, don't get too excited until you try it," I say, though I'm blushing furiously.
He takes a hefty bite of the burger and I try mine too. "This is good," he says and I'm pleased that I agree with him.
"I'm glad," I say. "I don't do a lot of cooking."
"I guess you're busy with your books," he says before taking another big bite of his burger. Maybe I should have made two for him.
A piece of burger lodges in my throat, probably because I inhaled so sharply when he mentioned my "writing." How can I lie to someone that I like so much?
But now I'm too busy coughing to think about setting the record straight about my job. He jumps up from his chair and whacks me on the back a couple of times and that does the trick.
Caleb crouches down next to me and gazes up at me, the concern in his gaze makes my tummy flip. I can't remember anyone looking at me like that. Maybe ever.
Wait, Nicco has looked at me that way, with concern. But without the additional layer of emotion. The layer that says that I'm the most important thing in the world to him.
My heart clenches in my chest and I have trouble breathing again, but for a different reason.
"Are you, okay, baby? I'd hate for anything to happen to you."
He hands me a glass of water and I sip it carefully. "Thank you. And thank you for saving me. If you hadn't been here, I'm not sure what I'd have done."
He reaches up and cups the side of my face. "I guess I'll have to hang around more, just to keep you safe."
I set the water glass back on the table. "Let's finish our dinner," I say. "I'm sorry for the interruption."
"Sure," he says and resumes his seat, though he keeps an eye on me as I eat.
"We were talking about your writing," he says. "I'd like to know more, if you're willing to talk about it."
I'm about to tell him the truth when a memory flashes through my mind. "Spoiled brat, that's what it is, if you ask me. Probably just doing this for the attention. Or to sell more records. You just wait. She'll be back on tour soon and ticket prices will be double."
I can't do it. I'm a coward. I just don't want to spoil this perfect day. My time with this perfect man.
"Do you write sexy books?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows.
I can't help but laugh. "No," I reply. "More like, um, poetry. I used to be really good at it and then I sort of got caught up in other things and ... well, I'd like to see if I can still capture some of that magic. The feeling of putting just the right words together. Of telling a story. It's such a wonderful feeling when it all comes together just right. It doesn't happen very often but when it does..."
I look over at Caleb and his eyes are bright and there's a huge smile on his face. "Wow," he says. "I can see your passion for it when you talk about it. I hope you're able to find that spark again."
