I carry my coffee back to the window. Claire’s still on the couch, but she’s changed the channel to some film. I can see the glow shifting colors across her face. She’s pulled the blanket up to her chin, and she’s smiling at the screen.
I grab the remote from the arm of my couch, flip through channels until the screens match, and drop onto the cushions. Damien is there in seconds, scrambling over my legs, kneading my thigh twice, then collapsing across my lap with his full weight and letting out a sigh so dramatic it rivals any performance I’ve ever given.
I settle my hand on his back. Warm fur. Steady purr.
On the screen, some chef is meeting a woman who’s just moved into his city. She’s carrying boxes and he’s holding a spatula. The dialogue is terrible and the lighting is worse, but I’m absolutely going to watch every minute of it.
Because she’s watching it. And right now, alone in our separate living rooms with our separate screens and one shared wall of night between us, this is the closest I can get.
Damien yawns against my knee.
“I know, buddy.” I take a sip of coffee and watch the film I’d never choose and the woman I can’t stop choosing. “Soon.”
5
CLAIRE
“He lives next door to you, and you waited weeks to tell me?”
Nina is sitting across from me at our usual corner table, hazelnut latte in front of me, her coffee untouched, her blue eyes so wide I can see white all the way around. A strand of blonde hair has escaped from behind her ear, and she hasn’t noticed. Her apron says The Flour House in curling script, her name tag says Nina, and her face saysI’m about to cause a scene in my own establishment.
“I’ve been busy,” I explain.
“Busy doing what? Watching him through your window?”
“Obviously.”
“And?”
“It’s hot! I’ve seen this man covered in chocolate and then lick it, and I think I’m obsessed.”
She grabs my arm across the table. “Go on.”
“He has muscles I didn’t know existed, and they move so much when he’s cooking shirtless.”
Nina’s grinning so hard it must hurt. “This is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to anyone I know.”
“And did you see that he made one of my recipes on camera?”
She’s already reaching for her phone, nearly knocking over her coffee, swiping through screens. I sit back, sip my latte, and wait.
She finds it, and her lips part, eyebrows climbing as she drags in a slow breath through her nose. Then she presses her hand flat to her chest and mouths,Holy fuck. She lifts her head. “Claire.”
“Yep.”
“The way he slapped the dough, he was imagining it was your ass, you know that?”
I nod, fire rushing up my neck.
“And that message at the end?Incredibly talented and delicious?” She sets the phone down and leans across the table. “That’s not just a recipe video. It’s a mating call.”
I burst out laughing. “No, you’re reading too much into it, and?—”
“If you finish that sentence, I will throw this coffee at you.”
I press my lips together. She’s not wrong and we both know it.
“Okay,” she says, shifting into a gear I recognize and fear. “He made a video of your recipe. Then you say he’s leaving cookies at your door, and made a second video for you while making those cookies. Plus, he called you delicious in both videos in front of millions. And he lives close enough that you can watch him cook from your living room. This is not a coincidence. This is the universe screaming at you.”
