“Will I have the pleasure of another fashion show later?” He kissed me as if he’d never had food and safety training.
“Mm, Angel,” I gently pushed him back, my face aflame. “Aren’t you still working?” Where anyone could see?
“I just have two more tables to close out. Why don’t you pick out dessert for us to take home?”
“Home. With you,” I said wistfully. “I like the sound of that. Especially when it comes with cake.”
He laughed and pinched my cheek.
Eventually, we returned to his mom’s place with our bags, my heart racing with anticipation.
“I’ll start cooking,” he said.
“I’ll set the table.” I grabbed a set of pretty floral dishware, then headed toward the dining room.
“Where are you going? That’s only for Thanksgiving.” He redirected me to the coffee table in front of the couch and TV.
“Are you sure it’s okay to eat over here?” I hedged. These were white sofas.
“Yeah. I thought we could watch a movie while I make our main course.”
“I can help. Or keep you company,” I offered, half-sitting on an uncomfortable stool at the kitchen island. Why did they buy these? Because they matched the color scheme?
He fluffed out a blanket for me on the couch. “Put your feet up, pidge. I’ll add commentary and snuggle you when everything’s simmering.”
“That sounds nice.” I settled onto the couch and flipped through our options on the TV. Most of the recommendations were classic movies from the black and white era. “Are these films where you got your vernacular?”
“What do you mean, sweetheart?” he asked with a transatlantic accent, sprinkling something green in a sizzling pan. “I’ve always fancied myself leading man material.”
I rolled my eyes fondly. “In old-timey movies, didn’t they refer to women as ‘birds?’ Is that where you got ‘pigeon?’”
“Oh, no.” He laughed, scratching his flushed neck. “I’m not sure where that came from.”
I sat up, scandalized. “You’re lying.”
He gave me a wry smile. “Maybe I saw a cute girl who seemed completely unaffected by my charms, much like a pigeon to passersby.”
“I-I wasn’t completely unaffected,” I said, pulling at the edge of the blanket. “You were very distracting.”
Angel smirked. “Was I? Well, maybe ‘pigeon’s’ a cute nickname I enjoyed from an animated dog movie, my ‘Lady.’”
I burst out laughing, and so did he.
“That’s very sweet,” I said, resting my cheek on the pillowed back of the couch. “You might be a rascal, sometimes, but I wouldn’t call you my ‘Tramp.’ You’re…”
My love.
“…my darling,” I finished, tentatively meeting his gaze.
“Now who’s being sweet?” He winked, lifting a spoon to his lips.
“Not too sweet, I hope?” I prodded meaningfully.
The creases around his eyes softened. “No. Not too sweet, Tori.”
Relief coursed through me.
I could be romantic without it being flippant or naïve.
