“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this lasagna over the years? Craved it? Tried to replicate it?” I ask him.
Tilting his head to the side, he looks me up and down before asking, “Why didn’t you tell me before? I would have made it for you.”
“Would you have?” I challenge right back. “I think you were spending way too much energy turning off the timers on my grow lights or being a dick to take the time to make me a lasagna,” I say, raising a brow at him and crossing my arms over my chest. “I highly doubt you would have made me a lasagna even if I would have begged.”
He doesn’t say a word, just stands there looking at me, running his tongue along his upper teeth. Wordlessly, he turns around and opens the oven. But before taking out the lasagna, he looks at me over his shoulder and says, “Nice sweatshirt, by the way.”
Looking down, I noticed that in my hurry to get to my lasagna, I grabbed Liam’s sweatshirt. He must have left it there when he left my room earlier. My cheeks and neck instantly heat and redden. “I . . . I wasn’t paying attention. I . . . I was just hungry. I didn’t mean to . . .” I stumble.
“I can go change,” I offer, even though now that I know I’m wearing Liam’s sweatshirt, the last thing I want to do is change.
The moment I turn to go back to my room to change, Liam says, “Don’t. I like seeing you in my clothes.”
And just like that, my frown turns into a small smile and my cheeks darken. I didn’t think my face could get hotter, but somehow, it happens. Not knowing what else to do, I quickly move to the fridge and open the door, trying to cool my cheeks. My quick movement only makes him laugh again. I don’t think I’ve heard him laugh this much before. I huff at the thought. I’m pretty sure I’ve thought that on more than one occasion over the last few weeks. He keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure.
“Come on, get out of the fridge before you give yourself a brain freeze and go sit at the table. The lasagna is ready,” he says.
I look over to find him concentrating on the lasagna, but I can hear the smirk in his voice. Not knowing what else to do, which keeps my cheeks red, I dutifully make my way to the table.
He even set the table. He somehow found the placemats and linen napkins I have never gotten around to using. There’s even wine in the decanter Cassie bought me but that we never got around to using, always too impatient to wait for the wine to properly decant before drinking so we simply poured straight from the bottle.
I don’t have to wait long before the perfect piece of lasagna is placed in front of me. Immediately, my mouth starts to water. It’s perfect.
“You good there?” Liam asks sarcastically.
“Don’t you dare ruin this for me!” I say back, trying to find the perfect first bite. Every bite will be perfect—just look at it. Not wanting to waste any more time, I take a bite. I can’t stop the deep moan that escapes my mouth asmy eyes roll to the back of my head. The bechamel sauce balances out the tomatoes, and the basil on top just adds the perfect little extra touch.
“God, it’s better than I remember,” I comment after going through the ten stages of a religious experience with just that one bite.
With a little happy dance, I dig in for another bite.
“Seriously. Next time, just ask for the damn lasagna, Sloane,” Liam says, bringing my attention to him as I chew.
I swallow. “It’s that much better being surprised with it,” I tell him, which just makes him shake his head and dig in.
The rest of the meal is finished in silence, though, not in perfectly comfortable silence. The air is charged with emotions. Some of it being nerves and awkwardness because of what happened earlier. It’s weird; we’ve never been awkward or weird around each other. It’s always been peaceful, easy. But right now, we’re stuck in anotherwill they, won’t theythat we seem to be skirting around more often than not lately. It’s somewhat annoying. I don’t like not knowing what’s going to happen. Although, this does feel date-ish—more than any other time we’ve shared a meal.
He did say he wanted to see how things went between us. Is this a date for him? Am I wearing a baggy sweatshirt with my wet hair in a messy braid on my first date with Liam Jones, the guy I’ve been dreaming about for longer than normal?
“Stop stressing,” Liam says, looking at me, his plate clean. Looking down, I see that mine is clean too. I didn’t get to enjoy the meal as much as I should have, too preoccupied with whatever is going on between us right now.
Unable to hold in my building frustration any longer I ask, “What is this? What’s going on between us?”
He raises an eyebrow at my sudden outburst. “We’re sharing a meal, then I’d like to watch a movie with you, then go to bed. Preferably in the same bed, so we can both sleep.”
He knows what I mean, yet he decides to tease me. Why does this man have such a hold on me?
Chapter 30
I watch her stew in frustration all night. I knew I should put her out of her misery, but seeing her all hung up on what exactly is going on between us is cute. Her brows would furrow, she’d bite her lower lip, pick at her hair. For a woman with half a PhD, sometimes she’s not the smartest. It’s what I love the most about her. Sometimes she needs to be told point blank.
I told her earlier that I wanted to see where this thing between us would lead, but apparently I need to be clearer with her . . .
Too bad I’m enjoying her face as the confusion plays itself out in her mind. I might just let her stew a little bit longer.
I leave her sitting at the table as I bring the plates back to the kitchen one by one, then the cups, and still, she just sits there, leaning back into her chair, staring into space. What the hell is she thinking so hard about?
“Movie?” I ask, rapping my knuckles on the table to get her attention.
