“Did your grandpa see you get your GED?”
“Yeah. He was really sick by then. I wasn’t a great grandson, but at least I was able to do that.”
She watched him with a clear, steady gaze. “I’m sure he was very proud of you. You’ve done well for yourself.”
“I’ve done okay. It’s no PhD.”
Her mouth pulled into a straight line. “You need to stop comparing yourself to other people, thinking you’ll never do things as good as your grandfather, or what you do is worthless because it’s not a PhD.”
“I feel like similar advice could be given to you.”
She laughed. “Why do you always have to throw my words back at me? Let’s start with you. You are Ross Manasse, and that means you’re a talented jeweler, in your own right, who can play the guitar, make an amazing paella, slow dance well. You’re clearly a very accomplished young man.”
“Mia,” he said skeptically.
She smiled at him, patting his arm. “No, I mean it. You’re like a Renaissance man, but without the huge ego.”
Ross appreciated the way she explained things. Mia had a way of talking as if she had the ability to inflate a cloud under a person. Perhaps she was a people-pleaser, but he believed her, and he liked it. He couldn’t help liking her.
Mia’s hand continued to rest on his forearm, the tips of her fingers grazing the skin there. He pulled it back until his hand slid beneath hers, and he could hold it within his grasp. Ross’s thumb brushed across each joint and knuckle as he studied the details of her hand—the curved lines, the callus on a finger, the small freckle marking her skin. Her eyes were also stuck on their hands as if fascinated with the way their fingers intertwined together.
“Do you want more?” he asked.
“Yes,” she blurted.
“Well, there’s plenty of food.”
“What? No—Sorry. No, I’m done. I-I’m full.” Mia brushed a hand across her face, her cheeks blushing. She was never more adorable than when she was flustered. He wanted to keep flustering her.
They stood, each picking up their own bowl. Mia followed him into the kitchen. She rinsed their dishes, putting the items in the dishwasher as he packed the leftovers, placing them in the refrigerator. Nothing was said, but it was a comfortable moment of domesticity as if they’d done the exact thing many times before.
The question was, with dinner finished, what was supposed to happen next? Ross knew what he wanted to do: take her into his arms, press his lips to hers, and get so hot and bothered the heat alone would devour them, leaving behind a pile of ash. Without any witnesses, it would be attributed to another mysterious case of spontaneous human combustion.
When he faced her, those amber eyes were like lava, hitting him with force, and he was helpless to do anything but swallow. Now he was the flustered one.
A warm smile fixed upon her face. “Thanks for dinner, Rosso. I don’t know how regular food can ever compete after that.”
“Are you leaving?”
“Do you want me to stay?”
“We can watch a movie or something.”
“Okay.”
Even with their plan decided, neither one of them moved. All he wanted was to run his hands across every inch of her skin, to see her hair splayed across his pillow, to hear words of pleasure fall from her lips. Ross couldn’t take it a moment longer. Closing the distance between them, one hand went to her waist, the other grazed her cheekbone. His mind was split between overwhelming desire and sheer terror. He didn’t know what was inside this Pandora’s box, but he was sure it wouldn’t be all rainbows and sunshine. How could it be when it was clear both of them were on different paths? Despite this, he was tempted to rip the lid off. But he couldn’t open it, no matter how much he wanted to. It would have to be Mia, and he’d provide her with any reason he could to discourage her unless she was a hundred percent positive.
Her arms slid around his back, bringing them closer, lifting her face in expectation of the kiss she was sure to receive.
“What if someday you decide you want to get back into politics? Maybe run for something yourself,” he said while stroking the soft skin on her cheek.
Her expression shifted to confusion. “What?”
“It’s not a far-fetched possibility, right?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I doubt it, but I guess.”
“But you don’t know.”
