“Used to be,” I tell her.
She looks up at me with those pretty, wide hazel eyes, and I guess she can see something in my face that makes her not ask me anything else about that.
“Well, you’re really good at cooking.”
“Hmph.”
“It was my big dream to open a diner,” she says.
My eyes widen at this information. “You like food?”
“Love it. I practically grew up in my grandmother’s diner.”
“Why don’t you work there instead of at the market?”
“She died.”
“Oh.”
“My parents sold the diner to pay off some of their debts. It’s still there. The old empty building at the edge of town?”
I shrug. I don’t know it. I don’t go to town.
“I’m just working at the market until I can save up enough money to buy it back.” She takes another bite of spaghetti. “This would be a great dish on the menu. A cozy comfort classic.”
I just blink at her and then shove another bite in my mouth.
She gets the hint I’m done talking, and we eat the rest in silence. But I can’t stop thinking about her diner.
When we’re done, she gets up and takes the dishes to the sink. It’s such a simple gesture, but it makes me feel too many things. Annoyance and overwhelm at her being in my space, sadness that I’m usually all alone up here, total fucking misery that she’ll leave tomorrow.
Yeah, I have the guys, but they don’t come over and eat spaghetti with me. They don’t sit on my couch and fall asleep watching TV while I cook. They don’t make me feel whatever the fuck I’m feeling!
“Don’t do that.” I snap, grabbing the dishes from her.
“I was just trying to help.”
“Well — don’t!”
She shakes her head, her eyes full of hurt. “You know what? I think it might just be better for both of us if I wait this storm out in my car.”
“You’ll freeze out there.”
“Well, I can’t fucking stay here with you when you clearly don’t want me here!”
I throw the dishes in the sink and grip the countertop. “You can’t! It’s too cold!”
“I have blankets. I’ll be fine out there. Out of your way.”
I turn around and glare at her. Fuck, she looks like a vision in nothing but that sweatshirt. My fingers itch to slide that zipper down?—
“You can’t leave!”
“Why not? You don’t want me here! You’d be happier if I was freezing out there!”
I go to her, grip her shoulders and look down into her beautiful hazel eyes — such a comforting shade of green in this light that reminds me of home. “You’re not safe out there. You’re only safe in here with me. I’m not good at talking to women. Don’t know how. But I will fucking protect you with my life if you stay with me.”
She lets out a gasp, heat spreads across her cheeks, and then my lips are crashing into hers.
