“I did,” I smiled and got to my feet. “You don’t want to know what it is first?”
He placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I’m going to be completely honest with you,” he said seriously. “I have a sweet tooth. I have yet to find a dessert I don’t like.”
“I think we’re going to be friends,” I said with a sly smile and went to the kitchen.
I returned with the dessert I made the night before, hoping I didn’t screw it up. “Fair warning, I’ve never made tiramisu before, so eat it at your own risk.”
He looked from the plate to me. “When’s the last time you messed up a recipe?”
“Hmm.” I tried to think of the last time and couldn’t. “I don’t remember,” I laughed.
“Then I’ll take my chances,” he said and brought the first bite to his lips. I watched with rapt attention as his lips wrapped around the spoon before he slowly slid it from his mouth.
He closed his eyes and groaned, which thankfully was loud enough to cover the slight whimper from me.
Realizing my mouth was gaping open, I slammed it shut just as he opened his eyes and pointed the spoon at me. “You most certainly did not screw this up.”
I exhaled in relief—for not messing up the dessert as well as for not being caught gawking. Then, I brought my own spoon to my mouth to see if it really did turn out okay or if he was just being polite.
Grant laughed. “I wasn’t just saying that.”
“I had to check,” I shrugged. “But I’m glad you like it.”
“I do,” he paused and met my eyes. “Just like everything else you’ve put in front of me today.”
Holy. Shit.
He couldn’t mean me. Could he? No, he had to be talking about the food.
One corner of his lips turned up in a half smile, as if he knew what I was thinking, before he turned his attention back to the plate and finished his dessert.
I carried our plates and silverware to the sink and turned to get the glasses, but Grant was already bringing them to me.
“Thank you,” I smiled and put them in the sink. “I’ll get the rest later.”
“I can’t let you do that,” he said seriously.
“And why is that?” I asked, hoping I sounded confident because I wasn’t sure what to make of his sudden change in demeanor.
“The one who cooks doesn’t clean up after the meal,” he said and gently ushered me away from the sink.
I watched in disbelief as he started to rinse the dishes and load the dishwasher. After a few moments of shamelessly staring, I put some of the food into containers for Grant to take home.
When he was finished, I walked him to the door. “Thank you for dinner. It was hands down one of the best meals of my life.”
“You’re welcome.” I extended my hand with the bag of leftovers. “Here’s some for you to take home.”
He took the bag from my hand and placed it on the table by the door. “You’re too fucking sweet,” he said and wrapped his hand around the back of my neck before he covered my mouth with his.
And I was gone. Lost in the moment. His hands. His lips. His body. His warmth. His everything.
Far too soon, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against the top of my head. “We doing this again?”
“We can.”
“When?”
“Wednesday?” I suggested.
