After work, I fed Angel and myself bites of cheesecake in his car, rejuvenated by coffee, sweets, and possibilities. He drove us to a white brick two-story house to hang out.
“You have a lovely home,” I said.
“It’s my mom’s place. I’m house-sitting ‘til she gets back,” he explained, opening the ornate front door.
“I figured you’d live together while you were in school to save money.” Wasn’t she gone for a good chunk of the year anyway?
He shrugged and breezed through a marble entryway. “I have a room upstairs, but I like my own space. That way, I never run into her man of the moment. Or other guests.”
I flushed at the implication. “She has a lot of boyfriends, then?”
“She doesn’t like when I do the math.” He flashed me a mischievous grin. “Same goes with her birthday.”
I chuckled. She sounded like quite a character. No wonder he was so dramatic. And flirtatious.
“This must be the lady of the house.” I motioned to a framed black-and-white photograph in the entryway.
A beautiful woman with windswept hair, big eyes, and the brightest smile I’d ever seen hugged a little boy on the beach. She had a glow about her like a model or celebrity.
I poked the little boy in the photo’s cherubic cheeks. “That’s you, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Before I became the man you know and love,” he said, taking my hand and spinning me into a dance.
“Love?” I said incredulously, trying to steady myself in his arms, but as soon as he kissed me, my bones went as limp as ribbons.
Each sweep of his lips wrapped me in indulgent bliss.
Love was a strong word. At least for a second date. But I wasn’t going to be baited into confirming or denying the strength of my affections. I did like him. A lot. More than I should for how long it’d been since he’d swanned into The Closette.
I threaded my fingers into his soft hair, basking in the open admiration of his gaze. Surely, real love was something like this. We swayed to a tune he hummed, some variation of a song that’d been playing in the car.
I brushed my nose against his and grinned. “So, what do you want to do besides kiss?”
He swept me across the floor in more of a waltz. “Dance. Talk. Watch the sunrise in each other’s arms.”
“I’m not sure that coffee was strong enough to get me to sunrise,” I joked, stumbling to keep up with him.
“We have an espresso machine. And averycomfy bed,” he said, rubbing my back.
I nuzzled into him, too cozy with the idea of snuggling his meringue-scented body instead of a plush bear for the evening. “I can’t stay over,” I mumbled into his chest.
“Why not? Your ride doesn’t turn into a pumpkin at midnight.” He held onto me, stepping wide to spin us.
I giggled and clung to him tighter. “No, but my family would worry.”
“Because you’re the baby?” He dipped me.
I gasped and hooked my leg around him. For one delicious moment, it was just him and me. Two people dancing. The chandelier framed his silhouette and formed a glowing crystal halo behind him.
Angel.
He’d saved me from another night stewing in my—and other people’s—consequences.
But I wasn’t the baby anymore. I was a lady. His, if the dopamine I always seemed to get in his presence was any indication.
My eyelashes fluttered as we cradled each other closer for a kiss.
His lips were so sweet. Or maybe that was the meringue on the tips of our tongues. The coffee. He smiled into another kiss, and my heart puffed up like those blood pressure cuffs.
