He stares at me. “You’re wearing the jeans.”
I look down at my legs. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You always wear those jeans when you have a date. They make your ass look?—”
I smiled when he stopped himself by putting his hand over his mouth. He turned to face the stove, but I stopped him and flipped him back around.
“How do these jeans make my ass look, Drew?” I teased.
He rolled his eyes. “Squishable.”
I chuckled and leaned in close, my lips brushing against his ear as I whispered, “Noted.”
His body shook with an intake of breath before he pushed me away, his brows furrowing.
“I’m only joking. I actually ran out of clean jeans. I was on my way to the Foundation to do some work, but I think I’ve changed my mind.”
Drew’s head snapped up, hope lighting his features. “Yeah?”
I nodded, ignoring the voice in my head that screamed this was a terrible idea. “You know what keeps my ass looking squishable? Your pasta dishes.”
Drew’s face lit up. “Seriously? You’re staying?”
“Don’t get too excited. I’m tired, and you’re going to feed me carbs. I’ll be asleep on my plate before I finish it.”
He chuckled. “I promise I won’t let you drown in my special sauce.”
I raised an eyebrow before we both burst into laughter.
Seeing Drew like this brought all my feelings to the surface. The way his eyes closed all the way when he laughed. The almost-dimples on his cheeks, the perfectly-straight teeth, and just…him. My sweet, smart, beautiful Drew.
When I opened the cupboard to grab the plates, I saw a bottle of red we’d had for a while. It was a gift, so we’d saved it for a special occasion. Our first night at home together in weeks definitely counted as a special occasion.
We fell into an easy rhythm, moving around each other with the familiarity of longtime friends.
“You said you were going back to the Foundation,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “How are things out there? I’m sorry I haven’t been able to help you much since the fundraiser.”
“Hey, it’s fine. Nothing but spreadsheets and boring shit, but we’re almost ready to start offering contracts.” Which reminded me. “Actually, if you have some time, I could use some help with that.”
His eyes bugged out.
“No, not the paperwork,” I reassured him. “The calls. You’re the one with the people skills.”
Drew gave me a sheepish smile, but I was right. Together, we worked. I could do all the paperwork and was good with people when they needed fixing, but negotiating with contractors who tried to get the best of me? I hated it. I knew they were taking advantage of me, they knew I knew they were taking advantage, and in the middle of the battle, I usually ended up calling people unsavory names and moving on.
“You mean I’m the one born with the patience gene.”
“Yeah, that one.”
As I launched into explaining our latest project idea, Drew leaned forward, completely engrossed. His enthusiasm was contagious, and soon, we were bouncing ideas back and forth as we devoured the delicious pasta.
“What if we partnered with local businesses for a mentorship program?” Drew suggested, gesturing excitedly with his fork.
I nodded, my mind racing. “That could work. We could focus on at-risk youth, give them real-world work experience.”
“Exactly! And maybe tie it into that summer camp idea you had?”
We continued like that until the food was gone and most of the wine too. Watching Drew’s face light up with each new idea, I felt a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with alcohol. This, right here, was why we worked so well together.Our shared passion, our ability to build on each other’s thoughts—it was magical.
