Billie shut the door behind her and leaned against it, her eyes locked on Debra as though she was trying to memorise her. “You think I need wine to be bribed when you’re standing here?”
Debra’s smile softened as she stepped closer. “Call it an ice breaker then.”
Billie swallowed, almost groaning inwardly. She ached to reach for her. To take Debra by the waist, pull her in, and press her mouth to hers, tasting her until Billie forgot her own name. But she didn’t. Tonight wasn’t about losing control; it was about having enough safety to keep it.
So Billie reached out, took Debra’s hand, and squeezed gently. “Thank you for coming.”
Debra angled her head, a frown between her brows. “Of course I came. I’ve been clock-watching since I got back to my place this afternoon.”
Billie looked down at their joined hands and something significant shifted inside of her.Debrawashere, thiswasreal, and Billie had never wantedanythingmore in her life.
Chapter Thirty-One
Billie had spentyears cooking in silence alone. She’d spent so long wondering what the point of cooking for herself was at all. And now, there she stood, a nervous wreck as she lowered the gas on the hob. She wasn’t nervous because she didn’t enjoy cooking. She was nervous because cooking for someone else required a kind of intimacy she hadn’t trusted herself with. It required warmth and presence. It was the sort of soft domestic ease she’d never been good at holding onto.
And now she was standing in her own kitchen, pretending she had some kind of idea as to what she was supposed to be doing. It was hard to focus when she could feel Debra’s eyes on her back. No, not just her back. Billie could feel themeverywhere.
Debra leaned against the doorway with her arms folded across her chest. At one time, Billie would have expected tension, but Debra had stepped into Billie’s apartment so relaxed that it felt as though she’d done it a hundred times before. And right now, it was doing something terrifying to Billie’s heart.
“I know you asked if you could cook for me, but I didn’t think you actually would.”
Billie didn’t look up from the chopping board. “Why wouldn’t I cook for you?”
She felt Debra’s eyes move slowly over her. “Well, you look like you’ve just finished closing a deal for a lifetime supply of suits with a celebrity, yet you’re making me dinner.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Billie’s mouth. “Am I not allowed to be both versions of myself?”
“You’re allowed to be anything you want.”
That hit Billie harder than it should have. She kept her focus on slicing the vegetables, even though she could feel Debra’s gaze like a sensual drag of fingertips across her skin. Debra wasn’t trying to seduce her. Not deliberately, anyway. She was just…there. And Billie’s body had learned very fast that Debra’s presence meant safety. The kind of safety that made her want anything and everything.
Billie swallowed when she caught Debra in her peripheral vision. She went in search of the wine glasses even though two sat ready on the dining table, opening cupboards without a care in the world and humming along to the radio that played low from the opposite counter. Billie did glance up at that moment. She wore her hair down tonight, comfortable slouch clothes as Billie had requested, but Billie’s mind immediately went to what Debra was wearing underneath.
Because she’d started doing that now.Allowingherself. Allowing Debra to occupy her thoughts in the quiet moments, allowing herself to relax and give Debra free rein over the conversations they had. Allowing herself to understand that she deserved whatever was happening here.
Debra set two glasses down and angled her head towards the bottle. “Do you want me to open it?”
Billie gazed back at her, entirely unbothered as to what Debra did or didn’t do. She was too busy wishing she was kissing her, not chopping vegetables.
Debra’s brows lifted as that knowing look crept in.
“Y-yes.” Billie cleared her throat. “Please.”
Debra opened the wine and poured slowly, then stepped closer and held a glass out towards Billie. Their fingers brushed, and Billie’s other hand immediately stilled on the knife. A jolt ran through her—annoyingly intense for something so small—and her heartbeat picked up rapidly. Debra seemed to sense it, but she didn’t retreat. She simply stood there, close, still holding her glass.
Billie set the knife down on the board, then reached out and took the wine from her. Her fingertips lingered deliberately this time, and as she looked up, Debra was watching her with that calm steadiness that never failed to make Billie feel like she was being seen properly.
“You’re nervous,” Debra said as she stepped an inch closer again.
Billie scoffed softly, though she knew it wasn’t convincing. “I’m not nervous.”
Debra smiled. “Billie.”
Billie’s grip tightened around her wine glass. This feeling… It was absurd. She’d been with women before, she’d done things she couldn’t even pretend hadn’t been intense, but this? Cooking dinner in her kitchen while Debra looked at her as though she was the best part of her day…yeah, she felt as though she was standing on the very edge of something huge.
She sipped her wine and set the glass down again, barely tasting it. Then she turned to Debra fully. “I need you to stop looking at me like that.”
Debra frowned. “Like what?”
