There’s a pause, then, “Open the door, Freckles.”
My stomach plummets, the tightest knot forming in its pit.
He knows! He fuckingknows!
“Yes, Iknow. I knew who you were the second I saw you at that party,” he says, sounding amused. “Come on. Open the door. I promise I won’t bite. Unless you ask me to, that is.”
Oh God. Why didn’t he say something?
“Okay,” he says after a moment. “I’ll leave. But I just ordered some Chinese food and have some extra. I’d love it if you could take it off my hands.”
My stomach growls on cue, traitor that it is. Chinese food is my favorite, and the last meal I had was with him last night. “N-no, that’s okay.”
“I’ll just leave a bag here,” he insists. “All right? In case you change your mind. Or the raccoons can get to it tonight. Bye.”
I press my ear to the door, listening as his footsteps retreat down the porch. A minute or two passes before my heartbeat settles, and I finally, cautiously, open the door.
“Got you.” Rafael’s hand catches the door as I try to pull it back, unabashed joy flickering in his gray eyes like he’s savoring every second of my surprise. His rings tap lightly against the wood as he leans in. “You really aresomething, Scarlett Moore,” he says as we stick to our positions, the door ajar and pressed between us.
I frown, scanning him. “Did you even bring Chinese?”
“Do you always have these sorts of trust issues?” The leather jacket looks older than him, the red lining showing where it’s been worn down at the cuffs. He lifts a bag from Dragon Palace, giving me one of those arrogant smiles. “But you only get it if you let me in.”
Reluctantly, I let go of the door, stepping back. He takes it as his cue to stroll in like he owns the place, shrugging off his jacket with practiced ease.
“There. Not that difficult, was it?” He shuts the door behind him; his jaw is rough with stubble and the scent of clean skin and woodsy cologne trails after him. “How’d you sleep?”
Seriously?He’s going to act like this is normal? Like hanging out is something we just do? “Why are you here, Rafael?”
He hangs his jacket on the hook by the door, unfazed. He’s wearing a worn charcoal tee, collar stretched, hem uneven. It lookssoperfect on him. “Uh, because I’m hungry, and—”
“Rafael.”
“We had a good time last night, didn’t we?”
I shrug, trying to keep my expression unreadable.
“Okay,” he says, stifling a laugh. “Well,Ihad adelightfultime. And I’d rather be anywhere other than my folks’ place right now. So…” He points behind me. “Kitchen that way?”
I glance toward the hallway. “Yeah. But beware of the cat.”
“Noted.” He wiggles his brows before disappearing into the kitchen.
I follow, watching as he places the takeout on the counter and opens the containers. The familiar scent of sweet-and-sour chicken and garlic fried rice fills the air, and my stomach growls again, even louder this time.
He looks over his shoulder. “Easy there, T-Rex.”
“Very funny.”
“I try.” He winks. “Plates?”
I point at the cabinet, and he walks over, then takes out two deep plates.
“You gonna help, or just admire the view?”
Cheeks flushing, I grab two glasses from the higher cabinet and get a bottle of water. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
I set it next to the food, the bite-size taste of daily routine making me feel all squirmy. Rafael Gray is at my house. He brought dinner over, as if eating together is something we just do. And now I’ll be expected to make conversation with himagain, which is surprisingly easy yet the hardest thing I’ve ever done at the same time.
