She surveys the ingredients as though she’s a five-year-old who just caught her parents assembling a dollhouse at midnight on Christmas Eve. I run my finger over the crease in her brow. “You get what you pay for.”
“No. You get what you can afford,” she retorts, hiking a thumb at herself. “Groceries in New York are expensive. I can’t believe I’ve been making them wrong this whole time.” She picks up the remainder of my sandwich and takes a bite.
I take her face in my hands, expression deadly serious. Her jaw stops, food hanging in digestive limbo inside her mouth as her eyes flare wide. “Never again. I’ll buy you the fancy pesto and artisan bread. I’ll even shred your mozzarella.” I press my forehead to hers. “Never again, baby. I swear it.”
She slaps my chest, mumbling something under her breath about me being a cheeky smartass. I swipe the last bite out of her hands with a caveman’s grunt and toss it into my mouth before putting the dishes in the sink and turning us toward the bedroom.
When I come out of the bathroom five minutes later, she’s already asleep, tucked under the covers, head on the edge of my pillow.
After I crank the air conditioning down, I climb in next to her.
Glancing at the clock, I see her glasses on my nightstand, her phone plugged into my charger. I set my watch next to the tiny hoop earrings she must have taken off before she fell asleep. The sight ofher things next to my things makes me smile because I want them there. This entire nightstand can be hers if she wants it.
Easy, easy, easy.
Tomorrow doesn’t promise the same, but I’ll take all that I can get for tonight.
Chapter Forty-One
YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO TOUCH ME EITHER
Gretchen
“What’s with the sweatshirt?It’s summer,” Connor says as he locks the apartment door behind him.
“It’s also negative million degrees in your apartment.” I didn’t check the thermostat this morning for the actual number, but if my frigid extremities were any indication, I’d say negative million is in the ballpark.
“It’s set to sixty-five. Hardly winter-wear weather.”
“Sixty-five?” I howl, pressing the down button as we approach the elevator.
“I told you my body was a furnace.”
“And I’m tellingyouI have frostbite.”
“You have me to keep you warm.”
The doors open and I whirl back to face him after we step inside. “I’ll die from hypothermia first. Have fun sleeping next to my corpse.” He presses the button for the parking garage.
His belly laugh is deep and warm, the sound turning my lips up at the corners. “Ok, so a compromise then.”
I eye him sidelong as the doors close. “I’m listening.”
“Sixty-six.”
I scoff. “How generous.”
Gaze directly in front of me, I catch his smug grin in my periphery as the elevator begins its descent.
“Seventy.” I turn toward him.
“Sixty-seven.” He faces me.
“Sixty-nine when we sleep.” He quirks a mischievous brow. “Get your head out of the gutter, old man. Seventy-two during the day.” I step into him, playing to win.
His breath coasts along my ear as he whispers, “Sixty-eight all the time.”
My skin shivers at his proximity, but I remain focused. “Sixty-eight when we sleep. Seventy-two during the day when you’re not around. Seventy if you’re home.” I nip at his jaw. “Final offer.”
