His lips pulled into a smile. “Good, because dinner’s ready.”
I dropped my bag on the counter, and he swept me into a hug. His lips found mine, and my body melted into his. A deep heaviness settled into my muscles as every part of me ached to connect with him. When his tongue swept past my lips, blissful numbness overtook me. Okay, yes, I could definitely let this morning go. “Good, because I’m starving. I’m going to be kitchenless for a couple weeks, so might as well pack it in now.”
A crease formed between his brows. “What? Why?”
“My roommate caused a kitchen fire.” I waved my hand dismissively, like this was a common hiccup when living with roommates—which I guess it was when living with Zoey.
His hands cupped my shoulders and concern washed over his features. “Are you okay? Is it livable?”
“Yes, just a little…pungent. Really, it’s nothing out of the norm. Zoey catches fire to anything she tries to cook.”
“So you live with an arsonist?”
“She’s harmless unless given a pot or pan. Then all bets are off.”
“Remind me never to let her in my house.” He mashed his lips together and cleared his throat. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and he shuffled nervously from foot to foot. “If you ever need a place to stay, there’s always room here for you.”
All of the anger and anxiety from today’s earlier events evaporated. Goose bumps cascaded over my skin at the thought of staying with Brogan, sleeping in his bed, waking up with my head on his chest. I didn’t know what that meant in terms of us, but I took his offer as a good sign. Opening up didn’t seem to come easy to him, so this was a huge relief. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
Silence hung between us at the weight of the moment. This was a nice unexpected step forward in an otherwise crappy day.
A grin spread across his face, and he pressed his hand into the small of my back, leading me toward the dining room. “Right. We should eat before the food gets cold.”
White china plates were placed in our usual spots at the table. A steaming bowl of macaroni and cheese (the homemade kind, not Kraft) sat in the middle of the table, along with a plate of fluffy dinner rolls and a mixed greens vegetable dish.
We sat down at the table, and Bruce curled up on his pillow in the living room, snoring.
“This looks amazing.”
“I’m glad you think so. It’s been a lot of fun cooking for someone else.” He smiled at me, his dimples making an appearance. “Dinners together have been something I look forward to.”
Would I ever get used to him? Or would he always steal my breath away with kind gestures and easy smiles?
I speared my fork into the tender macaroni, and the cheese stretched between the pieces as I brought it to my mouth. The sharp cheddar hit my tongue, followed by the creamy sauce and noodles. My eyes rolled back in my head, and for a split second I hated Brogan for ruining Kraft Mac and Cheese for me.
I took a sip of wine and said, “This reminds me of my mom’s cooking.”
“Your mom’s Italian too?”
I shook my head. “She just likes to cook with a lot of cheese.” I pointed my fork at him. “Although never trust her with pre-sliced packages. She had this bad habit of not peeling the slips of paper separating the cheese when she made my sandwiches. Nothing more disappointing than biting into plastic. She went through this vegan phase, and the vegan cheese almost tasted like plastic, so honestly I couldn’t tell the difference at some point.”
He grimaced, and his fork froze halfway from his plate to his mouth. “Gross.”
“Oh, come on, didn’t your mom used to make horrible lunches? Please tell me I’m not the only one.”
Brogan shrugged and tore off a piece of bread. “Not really. I went to boarding school starting in seventh grade.”
“Oh? Like one of those all-boys ones where people stand on their desks and yell Yawp and write poetry?”
He pointed at me. “I actually did see Dead Poets Society. And no, it wasn’t nearly that exciting. But I did manage to singe off my eyebrows in chem lab. And we did sneak out to meet the all girls-school a few miles away.” A wicked grin crossed his face as he remembered the memory.
“I bet you were quite popular with the ladies.” I smirked and took another bite of pasta. I would bet my next paycheck that younger Brogan charmed the plaid skirts off many prep school girls.
A twinkle lit his eyes as he said, “I lacked any skill when it came to the opposite sex. Could barely form a coherent sentence around them.” He chuckled.