Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“Thank you,” Adrian whispered. He was quiet for a moment, just holding me as tightly as I held him. “No one’s ever cooked for me before,” he said finally, his voice muffled in the side of my neck. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”
The admission hit me harder than it should have. I thought of all the meals I’d shared over the years—family dinners around our old kitchen table, holiday spreads that took all day to prepare, the easy comfort of home-cooked food made with love.
The idea that Adrian had never experienced that made something protective and tender rise in my chest.
“If I have my way,” I said, the words coming out before I could stop them, “this is the first of many.”
Adrian pulled back and met my eyes. There was something soft and sweet in his expression. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I meant it. More than I’d meant anything in a long time.
“Then maybe get off me and let me enjoy it before it gets cold,” he teased. But he pulled my face close to give me a long kiss before he let me go.
We ate in comfortable companionship after that, occasionally commenting on the food or the snow falling outside the windows. Adrian asked about the holiday traditions I’d grown up with. I found myself talking more than usual, sharing stories I hadn’t told anyone in years.
“She used to make this every Christmas Eve,” I said, serving him a second helping without asking if he wanted it. “The whole house would smell like garlic and herbs for hours. Maya and I would sneak down to steal tastes while it was cooling.”
“Did you get caught?”
“Every time. Mom would act all stern and shoo us away, but she’d always cut us tiny pieces anyway.” I smiled at the memory. “She said the best part of cooking for people was watching them enjoy it.”
Adrian was looking at me with that soft expression again, the one that made my chest tight. “She sounds wonderful.”
“She was.” I cleared my throat, suddenly emotional. “She would have liked you.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. I think she’d’ve had a weakness for smart-ass city boys with good hearts.”
Adrian’s laugh was warm and delighted. “How do you know I have a good heart?”
“Because you’ve been putting up with my grumpy ass for weeks,” I said, reaching across the table to brush my thumb across his knuckles. “And because of the way you talk to Maya. The way you’ve thrown yourself into this town, even though I know it’s not your usual type of place.”
“I think I’ve changed my mind about what my type of place is,” Adrian said quietly.
My heart rate kicked up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His fingers turned under mine, palm to palm. “I like it here. More than I expected to.”
The weight of that admission settled between us, carrying implications neither of us was quite ready to voice. Instead, I squeezed his hand and stood to clear the dishes.
“Leave those,” Adrian protested. “Let me do them.”
“Absolutely not. You’re the guest. Besides, I have a very important cultural education to provide.” I gestured toward the living room, where my sweet man was getting ready to have his Die Hard cherry popped hard.
I’d arranged pillows and blankets on the couch, creating a cozy nest that was definitely more intimate than necessary for movie watching.
Adrian groaned dramatically. “If you make me watch It’s a Wonderful Life, I’m not going to be in the mood for sex. We’ll have to find a pair of twin beds and be all 1930s and shit.”
“I promise you’ll want to fuck after this.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “If it’s Home Alone or anything where the Santa gets progressively fatter, I’m out.”
“Stop flapping your jaws and trust me.”
“I don’t love Elf, but I do love Zooey Deschanel singing,” he said, as if reluctantly offering me options.
“I don’t need your concessions, asshole,” I said, yanking him down beside me. “I just need you to take a breath and let this happen. Okay? Tonight’s date is my plan. Mine. Understand? You’ll watch this and you’ll like it.”
“So bossy,” Adrian complained. But as he tumbled down beside me, he sucked in a breath of excitement. “Wait. Are we watching what I think we’re watching?”
“Zip it,” I said, reaching for the remote.
He grinned at me and mimed zipping his lips before leaning in and making a production about kissing me without opening his mouth.
I shoved him off with a laugh. “You’re so weird. Stop and pay attention.”
The movie started, but I found myself more interested in watching Adrian’s reactions than the familiar action on-screen. He made sarcastic comments during the exposition, laughed at the one-liners, and gradually relaxed until his head was resting on my shoulder and his hand was splayed across my chest.
“Okay,” he admitted during the scene where McClane writes his message on the dead terrorist’s shirt, “this is actually pretty entertaining.”