He grabs milk, butter, and a few condiments, and that’s when I realize he’s making mashed potatoes, my favorite.
“I don’t have an emergency contact but?—”
“Put me down,” he casually supplies and grabs the masher just as casually. Actually, everything he’s doing seems like something he regularly does.
This feels so domestic.
“No, I don’t want to—that’s not necessary.”
He mashes the potatoes, hardly adding pressure, but it’s enough to make his biceps flex. I bite the inside of my cheek and force myself to look away.
“You don’t want to what?” he presses, insistent as always.
Be a bother. Annoy you more than I already have. Inconvenience you.“It’s not necessary.”
“Mmm, I disagree. I think it’s very necessary. Put me in your phone.”
“No, stop being so insistent or I’m going to kick you out.” I’m not. As much as I like being alone, I like having him here more.
He flashes me a cute, boyish grin and before I know it, he’s grabbing my phone off the island, holding it up to my face, and unlocking it. I quickly go to him and try to grab it, but despite me being five ten, he’s still taller than me.
“Daniel, no.” I’m practically climbing him, but he’s not budging. I’m breathing harshly, trying to get it out of his grasp, but he only spins as he continues to put his information in my phone. “That’s not?—”
“All—” He looks down at me, and it doesn’t dawn on me until his eyes descend between our chests that I realize how close I am to him. Or that when he spun, I followed him, and now I’m pinned between the counter and him. “Done.”
“You didn’t need to do that.” I track his tongue as it pokes out and drags along his top and bottom lip.
“I did and I wanted to.” He pushes the wayward strands of hair away from my face and behind my ear. His finger stalls at my hair before it drops down to my shoulder. He slides the blunt tip of his nail in a circle, sending a chill down my spine. “You’reO positive and an organ donor. I’ll need to know more about you.”
His eyes darken, smoldering but freezing me in place.
“There’s not much to know,” I quietly reply, fisting my palms and clenching my thighs.
“I didn’t believe it before, and I don’t believe it now.”
My breath staggers when his finger bumps the strap of my tank top.
His eyes dilate and mine flutter.
Disappointedly, my phone buzzes in his palm, breaking the trance we found ourselves stuck in.
“Sorry. Here.” He steps back while handing me my phone.
When I look at the caller ID, I know I could call them back later because it’s one of my clients’ parents, but I answer it anyway because I don’t know what to say. I can’t wrap my head around what we did even though we didn’t do anything. He just…lightly touched me and I…liked it.
“I have to take this.”
He gives me a thumbs-up and resumes cooking while I do everything in my power to cool down as I step into my bedroom again.
A few minutes later and he’s cooking more things. My kitchen smells ridiculously good, and he’s singing that song that’s not in English or Spanish.
“What language is that?”
“Italian. This doesn’t bother you, does it? I can put something else?—”
This is so endearing, I can’t begin to explain why.
“No, it’s okay. I really don’t mind it. I feel like I’ve heard this before but in English? And I didn’t know you spoke another language.”
