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“I know,” Gavin said. “This was shorter.”

“Ah.” Dom didn’t turn around. He kept his eyes on the pan, stirring slower than he should. “A few extra steps wouldn’t kill you.”

“Probably not.” Gavin pulled the knife out of the block but didn’t move immediately. His chest pressed against Dom’s back, solid and warm, and Dom’s hand tightened around the wooden spoon.

Gavin’s breath stirred the hair at Dom’s neck. Dom’s pulse jumped, and before he could think better of it, he leaned back, just an inch, until he felt the full line of Gavin’s chest against him. Gavin let out a low breath that was almost a laugh, but neither of them moved. For one suspended second, Dom thought Gavin might put a hand on his waist or press his mouth to the side of Dom’s neck. Or both. Both would have been fine too. Every muscle in Dom’s body tightened in anticipation, almost sagging when he felt Gavin step back.

Dom exhaled through his nose. “You did that on purpose.”

“Did what?”

He turned. Gavin’s expression was innocent, but the smile pulling at one corner of his mouth ruined the effect.

“You know what.”

“I was getting the knife.” Gavin shrugged.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Gavin set the knife on the island and opened the bread. “You invited me for lunch, admitted you weren’t ready for the date to end, and stared at my arms. I think I’m enjoying this exactly the appropriate amount.”

Heat climbed up Dom’s neck. “I wasn’t staring at your arms.”

“Right. You liked my shirt.”

“I liked you before you started talking.” Dom turned back to the stove, removing the pan from the heat when he saw how much the glaze was bubbling.

Gavin was still laughing softly. “What am I doing with this?”

“Slice the bread. Try not to lose a finger.”

“I work with power tools for a living,” Gavin pointed out. “I’m pretty sure I can handle slicing bread.”

Dom rolled his eyes. “You used getting the bread knife as an excuse to press your entire body against me. Your judgment is questionable.”

“I got what I wanted.”

The words were said so seriously that Dom pulled his eyes from the saucepan again. Gavin wasn’t looking at the bread anymore. His blue-green eyes held Dom’s across the island, amusement still there but softened by something warmer. Dom’s pulse stumbled.

“The knife,” Gavin added, far too late to sound innocent.

Jesus Christ.

“Just cut the bread. Four slices should be fine.”

“Yes, chef.”

Dom turned off the burner before he ruined the glaze and set it aside. Behind him, he could hear the crackle of the crust as Gavin cut through the loaf. He should have been able to focus now that Gavin wasn’t touching him, but his body hadn’t gotten the message yet. He could still feel the broad width of Gavin’s chest against his back and the warmth of his breath near Dom’s ear.

When Gavin had four slices, Dom placed them on another baking sheet and slid them into the oven to toast. Two minutes later, he pulled both the bread and the cutlets from the oven. The mozzarella had melted over the prosciutto and started to brown at the edges, and he used a spatula to move the cutlets to the bread. He drizzled the balsamic glaze over the cheese, added some freshly torn basil, then finished by placing another slice of bread on top and slicing them in half.

He slid a plate in front of Gavin and took the stool next to him. Their knees bumped beneath the island, but neither of them moved away. Gavin picked up the sandwich and took a bite. Mozzarella stretched from the edge before snapping back, and Gavin closed his eyes for half a second as he chewed.

“Good, huh?” Dom might be floundering with whatever this thing between them was, but he was very confident in his sandwich-making skills.

Gavin opened his eyes. “I haven’t said anything.”

“Your face said it all.”