Page 25 of When the Walls Come Down
I blew out a ragged breath, which probably made me an asshole, but first date or not, I wasn’t up to stepmothering for anyone. I’d hoped I’d been subtle, but when he chuckled retrieving two plates, I knew he’d heard me.
“They’re cute,” I replied.
“Sometimes too cute. They’re good kids though. I try to spend as much time with the older three as I can. They’re a big part of why I love it so much here. But Reggie has been good about FaceTiming me since Mila was born.” He started plating pasta, one forkful at a time. It was painful to watch, and we’d likely eat by Christmas. “What about you? Any kids hiding in your apartment, waiting to kick me in the shin if I don’t have you home by curfew?”
“Uh, no. No kids.” I felt mildly better when mutual relief showed in the curl of his mouth. “Though I do have six nieces and four nephews.”
He froze mid three-noodle scoop and stared at me, his mouth agape. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah, I’m something of a professional aunt. My sister Jenna had her first when I was eleven. Laurie’s son was not far behind. I swear, when I was growing up, someone was always pregnant in my family. It was crazy, but as the family babysitter, I had a lot of job security for a fifteen-year-old.”
“I’d say so.” He tilted his head at all twelve of the noodles he had to show for his hard work and then started to go back in with a fork.
“You know, you might have better luck with a pair of tongs or maybe if you twirled the fork around in it before putting them on the plate.”
“I think I know what I’m doing here, Peach.”
I lifted my hands in surrender. “Just trying to help.”
He jerked his chin at my nearly empty wine glass. “Top yourself off while I finish up.”
Never one to turn down a glass of good wine—as opposed to the drivel I was gifted by the building—I did as I was told, and I even did it without laughing as he leaned sideways to reach a drawer and pulled out a pair of tongs.
Not five minutes later, we were sitting side by side at the bar, a steaming plate of spaghetti with a tomato cream sauce and a basil garnish that smelled absolutely divine. He’d paired it with bread and a green salad, topped with even more mozzarella than he’d put in the sauce, but I only had eyes for the pasta.
“You know, for a man who claims not to cook very often, this is seriously impressive, Shane.”
He grinned. “Oh, you don’t even know the half of it yet.” He inched over until his thigh came flush with mine and whispered, “There’s cheesecake too.”
I bit my bottom lip and it had nothing to do with cheesecake—though, admittedly, it didn’t hurt—and everything to do with the way my stomach flipped every time he got close.
He lifted his glass of wine in my direction. “To new neighbors, not getting clocked with a stiletto every time I called you Peach today, and hopefully seeing you tomorrow—and the next day.”
I clinked our glasses and tried not to let my cheeks heat like a schoolgirl who had just gotten asked to prom, but damn it if the idea of tomorrow and the next day did some seriously warm things in my chest.
Dinner was amazing, and I didn’t make any false pretense about being ladylike before going for a second serving. Shane immediately followed suit. The conversation flowed, and we laughed more often than not.
I’d been tasked with popping open another bottle of wine while he brought the cheesecake out. I was stuffed, but the dessert was phenomenal. After he’d fed me the first bite, we didn’t even bother with plates. The two of us huddled around it, forks in hand, and alternated between demolishing over half of it and swapping stories about our families growing up.
It was funny. Shane had a huge apartment, but we never left the kitchen all night. After I’d helped him clean, we both hopped up onto the counter across from each other and continued talking. I’d like to say it was because it was the room closest to the wine, but the truth was we were so damn invested in what the other one was saying that even walking to his couch seemed like it would break the spell.
It was almost one in the morning, and I was still swirling one drop of wine left in my glass that I refused to drink because when it was gone, I had no other excuse to stay. I wasn’t ready to go yet.
Not to go back to my empty apartment.
Not to crawl onto my grown-up couch to sleep.
But most of all, not to leave him.
“So, anyway, Reggie and I got into it. Didn’t speak for a week. And I got to say I told you so half a dozen times when we finally did.”
