“So however it is you love me, I’ll do my absolute best to love you back just the same.”
He doesn’t say anything to that, but a small sound leaves his throat. I scoot my pillow around the blanket until it’s beside his. His leg is warm pressed against mine, his breathing soft as I hand him a plate. We eat in relative silence as I block Shelly’s attempts to steal our desserts. I don’t know if Caspian feels as overwhelmed by all of this as I do, having had years to acclimate—his whole life really—versus my months. But I strongly suspect I’m not the only one feeling the loss of gravity beneath my feet. The shifting of reality. Of all I thought I knew.
When our dinner plates are empty, I bring the desserts closer. “I assume you still have room? It’s no pea-green gelatin, but I did my best.”
He huffs a small laugh. “You didn’t eat that, did you?”
“Oh, hell no. That stuff had stomach troubles written all over it.”
He chuckles, plucking a small lemon tart from the tray.
“Full disclosure,” I say before he can take a bite. “I didn’t make these myself. You can thank the bakery in town for that.”
“It’s the thought that’s perfect.”
Caspian hums as a piece of the tart disappears between his lips. I try not to stare, but it’s near impossible not to. The dim light of the room and the candles casting light across Caspian’s face makes me feel as if I’m in a dream.
Is this how he feels every time he has a vision? Like every second is too important to miss? I don’t dare blink, scarcely breathe. But then Caspian is handing me a dessert off the tray, and I look down at the offering.
A piece of crispy baklava.
“My favorite,” I murmur, accepting the treat. The combination of pistachio and honey is divine, and I nearly moan at the first hit of it against my tongue.
Caspian looks amused. “I know.”
I cock my head, wondering if I should even ask how he guessed as much. But Shelly takes that moment to get past my defenses, her tiny paws perilously close to the remainder of our desserts. Caspian scoops her up quickly and efficiently, cradling my cat as if she’s a child. Shelly melts, allowing him to scratch her stomach, a feat not many men have attempted and lived to tell the tale.
“You’ve bewitched us all,” I mutter.
Caspian’s gaze swings to me. “Have I?”
He looks pleasantly startled when I run a hand through the short hair at the side of his head. He leans into the touch, much as my cat would, his eyes fluttering closed. If I weren’t already under his spell, that would do it. Seeing his trust. His longing so close to the surface. The way he’s offering himself. Freely and without barriers of his own.
I don’t know what the future holds. But right this instant, I know with a certainty I feel in my bones, in my very makeup, that I could fall in love with this man if I let myself.
I bring my mouth to his slowly, his lips tart from the lemon but sweet as well. He doesn’t shy away. He’s in my kitchen, in my life, waiting for me to come to conclusions he already knows. My kiss is a question, asking him if this is it. If he feels it, too. His answer is in the way he opens to me, my poor cat abandoned in favor of Caspian’s hands holding me tight, telling me I’m on the right track.
We kiss until the sky is fully dark, the candles half-burnt, leaving wax trails on my countertops. And even then, we don’t go upstairs. Not right away. We lay our heads on the pillows, lying side by side as we battle sleep, talking about the stars and the future and the now.
I think Caspian was right. Our choices matter. Every one of them.
And I’ve already made my choice.
Chapter 34
Caspian
Lee is in the shower when I wake, the soft patter of water tempting me to join him. It’s a struggle to abstain, heading for the bathroom in the hall instead. But I’m trying my best to let Lee set the pace between us. To not push too far too fast.
A smile settles on my face as I brush my teeth and get ready for my day. It’s the weekend, which means I have Lee all to myself.
I beat him back to the bedroom, the water shutting off as I’m standing in front of the dresser, contemplating clothing options. The door to the en suite opens a minute later, and Lee steps through, wrapped in a towel, his steps faltering when he sees me standing in only my briefs and a t-shirt.
My pulse skitters, my eyes drifting down his torso and the light smattering of hair that trails even lower. The subtle scars on his chest. The broad shoulders and tapered, yet soft, waist. He doesn’t move, and neither do I, rooted to the floor when, in days past, I would have pulled on my pants and left him to his privacy.
I can’t move away from him now. Don’t want to.
Lee must see the desperate invitation in my eyes because he steps closer. The heat from his shower practically rolls off his skin, flushing my own.
