I did. I really fucking did. “It wasn’t great.” I touch his cold cheek, warming it with my fingers. “It’s better already,” I say, letting my hand fall away. The flush deepens, making me smile. “God, I really want to kiss you.”
His earnest gray eyes widen as he blinks up at me. “Yes please.”
The flutter in my heart as I reach for him is strange. It’s not something I’m used to feeling, but I love it. His eyes close right before my lips meet his, and the sigh he lets out against my mouth has even more weight falling from my shoulders.
I know he doesn’t want a relationship, and I’m fine with that. I do want a relationship with him. Of course I do, but it’s not so important to me that I won’t take this. Luca’s comfort is paramount,and making sure he has what he needs is my number one priority.
He shivers, so I break the kiss. “Come on, baby. Let’s get inside. You’re freezing, and I need to wash this day off me.”
With a nod, Luca turns, leading the way into the house.
He’s got a fire built, and he must have stoked it before he went outside because it’s cozy and warm. He’s straightened up some too. He tries to work my jacket free from my shoulders, but I stop him by gently grabbing his wrist. “I can take my jacket off, Luc. You don’t have to do that for me.”
“I know that.”
“Good.” I slip my jacket off and hang it on the hook by the front door, then kick off my shoes. “I’m gonna take a shower, and when I get out, I’ll figure out something for dinner.”
Luca’s quiet, so I glance at him to find him nervously biting his lip. Shit. Is my mood making him think of Damien? I don’t even know how Damien would act on a bad day. But it can’t have been good.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He blinks out of his daze, then smiles at me. “Yeah. I thought I’d make some chicken-n-dumplings for dinner. Does that sound good?”
My stomach growls loudly, answering the question for me, but something niggles at the back of my mind, so I shake my head. “I can make my own dinner, Luc. You don’t have to.”
“I know that,” Luca says slowly, dragging out each word like he’s confused. “I want to, though. You’ve had a bad day. You go shower, and I’ll start on dinner.”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I blurt out. “I never would. I had a bad day, but I would never hurt you.”
A million emotions flash across his face in a split second—panic,horror, anger, and sadness. Each one quicker than the last, there and gone so fast I can barely make them out. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“You don’t have to take care of me,” I insist.
There’s a beat of silence. Luca stares me down, cocking his head. “Austin. You have black smudges on your face, and you smell like a bonfire. I am more than capable of making dinner. I don’t need you to worry on my behalf, and I don’t need you to freak out thinking I’m doing this for the wrong reasons. Itrustyou. So get your ass in the shower now while I start on dinner.”
The words hang between us, and for some reason my brain just doesn’t want to let it go. “But, I—”
“Shower,now,” Luca says, fire blazing in his gray eyes. “I want to take care of you, goddammit. You’re my best friend, and you’ve had a bad day.” When all I do is stare at him in shocked silence, he snaps at me. “Go.”
Jesus. I can’t help but smile at the outrage on his face. “Yes, sir.” I give him a little salute as I turn on my heel and disappear into the bathroom to wash the day off me.
The hot water beating down on me feels like a balm. I’m not surprised when it takes a second for the water to run clear instead of in murky, dark rivulets. I scrub at my scalp, even going so far as to wash my hair three times to get rid of the smell of ash and smoke.
By the time I step out of the shower and dry off, I’m feeling like a new man.
The shower warmed me up, and I know the living room is even warmer with the fire going, so I don’t even bother getting dressed. I just step into a pair of boxers and head back into the living room.
Luca has soft music playing. Old country music—my favorite—and he’s rolling out dough on the counter. “Smellsdelicious.”
He looks up at me with a smile, and my breath gets caught in my throat at the spot of flour clinging to his nose. “You look a lot better.”
I step closer to him. “Are you saying I looked bad before?”
He shakes his head with a grin, looking back at the dough. “Not at all. You just look more refreshed.”
I am. I feel more refreshed. It’s not even the shower, I don’t think. It’s him. I step up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, pulling his body back against mine. He laughs—a light, carefree sound—but doesn’t stop rolling the dough out. “Thank you.” I press a kiss to his temple. “Can’t believe you’re making them homemade. I always just drop biscuits in the broth.”
Luca gasps, all adorable outrage. “That’s blasphemy. Homemade or nothing.”
