“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
“I can’t even?—”
“Nothing to be sorry about.”
Another shake. “I should?—”
I press my finger to her lips, trying to find the words to make my words clear.
But they don’t come.
Because I…sniff.
Then groan, hurrying to the oven and pulling open the door.
Black smoke billows out.
“Nothing to be sorry about except for distracting me so much that dinner’s toast,” I say, slamming it closed and turning off the heat.
When I spin around her expression is chagrined…
And still fucking beautiful.
Especially when she holds up her glass and says,
“At least we have wine?”
Seventeen
Ky
I expect him to be pissed about dinner.
I would have been—or if not pissed, at least annoyed after spending the time prepping, not to mention the money on the food.
Or maybe it’s that I expect him to be upset about my behavior.
Acting like a lunatic—throwing myself at him one moment, panicking on the kitchen floor the next.
Except…I hadn’t.
Tonight, I hadn’t panicked.
But he knew I was riding that edge, didn’t he?
I hadn’t missed that was precisely when he pulled back.
Which just makes me like him all that much more.
Same as his smile at my At least we have wine?
Now he moves toward me and cups my cheek. “How are you at chopping carrots?”
“I’m better at peeling potatoes,” I say, not quite sure where the sass is coming from.
Except…that it’s me.
The me I am with my friends. The me I am with Damon.
