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I just look at her, not speaking, and then she smiles.

It’s a real one, breaking across her features like dawn across the sky. My heart lurches in my chest.

I turn back to the stove, grab another pot to put water on to boil, thanking God I have something to do with my hands.

I dump in the pasta once the water boils, and when it’s perfectly al dente I drain it and mix it in with the sauce.

“Ready for a taste?” I ask, turning around with the pan in one hand and a fork in the other.

Margo smirks, then parts her lips.

My skin feels hot all over.

It’s now or never.

I gather some pasta and sauce on the fork, twirling it around the tines. Slowly, I slide the fork between her lips.

Her eyes close as she chews. For a second, she says nothing.

I wince. “Too much garlic?”

She chews and swallows, eyes popping open.

“No, it’s delicious,” she says.

I set the pan on the counter beside her.

I feed her another bite, careful to hold my palm beneath the fork to keep sauce from dripping on her pristine dress.

I watch her as she chews, her throat working as she swallows, almost fascinated.

And then another, until half the pan is gone.

I haven’t eaten a bite myself. Somehow, I’m in no hurry.

Finally, she holds up a hand, placing the other on her stomach.

“I can’t eat another bite. Not one.”

I smile, returning the pan to the stove.

I turn back to her.

A bit of red sauce adorns her bottom lip.

Gabe, that voice in the back of my head warns. You’re not ready.

I draw a deep breath.

Fuck off.

I reach for the burner knob, but Margo catches my wrist.

I cup Margo’s chin and then brush my thumb across her bottom lip, catching the sauce. I look into her eyes, popping my thumb in my mouth. Margo’s breath stalls. Good. I forgot first.

I lean forward and kiss her, my tongue delving into her open mouth.

I place my hands on either side of her on the counter. I don’t touch her, but when she grabs my shirt, pulls me in, I groan against her lips.