“But I make great omelets.”
I sigh quietly. He does, actually. And I owe him a flan. One that I actually made two days ago but haven’t had the nerve to bring it to him. My repayment for his dinner the other night.
“You’re quiet. Are you still there?”
I lightly chuckle to myself and feel my cheeks heat at the sweetness of his tone.
“Fine. I have to bring you your flan anyway.”
“Yesss.” He drags out the word, and I hear water sloshing around.
It causes me to picture him and make up my own image in my head of how he looks right now. Something I shouldn’t be doing—but decide not to stop anyway.
Does he take ice baths naked? No, right? Especially on the balcony. He’s at least in a swimsuit. But that doesn’t stop my thoughts from swirling over what a bare chested Liam looks like with droplets of water dripping down his stomach.
“Okay. I’ll get dressed and be over soon,” I say, tugging at the collar of my robe.
“Whatever makes you comfortable.” I can picture the grin on his lips as I slide the door open and then close it behind me.
A few moments after that exchange, I tap on his door a couple times, glancing down at my feet as I stand on the outside of his door holding a pan of flan. Black cardigan over a white tank top and a pair of black leggings. I’m nothing if not consistent with my color palette.
“Good morning.” He beams as the door opens and sunlight comes streaming through his back window.
“Not taking your own advice I see,” I tease, smirking up at him as I tilt my head. He creases his brows, and I avert my gaze from his wet hair and bare chest. “Answering the door without asking who it is. And you couldn’t find a second to grab clothing.”
His arm leans on the door as he steps back with a smile. His body is immaculate. Not that I’d expect otherwise.
“Come on in, Dem,” he purrs. “I have a doorbell camera, remember? I saw you. Andlook—” He grabs a shirt from the small table near his entryway.
Convenient it was sitting there, but okay. He pulls it over his head at the same time he pushes the door shut behind me. I turn as it clicks and when I look back at him, he runs a hand through his hair before doing a little shake, letting some damp pieces fall wherever they please. And my stomach does seven thousand backflips in a row.
“Problem solved.” He grins, tugging at the shirt he’s wearing.
I give a thumbs-up and raise the dish in my other hand as something bumps into the back of my ankle and it startles me slightly.
“Oh,” I gasp. “Right. You have a cat.”
“That’s Birdie. You aren’t allergic, are you?”
I shake my head, offering him a smile as I see the genuine concern flash on his features. “No, not at all. I like cats.”
I refer to the dish again as the playful kitten darts away from me. “Can I put this in your fridge?”
“You know you didn’t really have to make it.” He opens the fridge door, making some space on the top shelf toward the back.
“Yes, I did. And it was good practice anyway. It’s one thing I crave. Well, I crave a lot of sweets.” I lightly laugh at myself. “But this one’s my favorite and I’d like to perfect it. So you’ll have to tell me how it tastes.”
Liam reaches into a drawer, grabbing two forks, and places them on the counter.
His apartment is cleaner than I anticipated it would be. I guess I didn’t really know what to expect, but it looks like no one lives here. It’s minimally decorated, but the things that are here are incredibly masculine. Dark colors, leather, rich scents.
“Let’s taste it now.”
“Uh, okay. Sure.” I open the airtight container I’ve had it in.
“Dig in.” He hands me a fork.
“Don’t you want to cut a slice?”
