She hums in response, a sexy, sensual sound that makes me want to get down on my knees, slide my hands up her skirt, spread her legs, and devour her again.
Fanning her hand in front of her face, she stares at me, narrowing her pretty blue eyes. “You’re trying to distract me from finishing all this delicious food you made for me. But I need it because I need my energy.”
I’m all coy and playful as I say, “And what do you need your energy for?”
Her lips curve in a wicked grin. Her hand grips the hem of my shirt, tugging me a little closer. “I need it because it’s almost eight and I’m going to want a little something for the road.”
I groan my appreciation for her libido, for her mouth, for her mind. “Do you have any idea how sexy it is that you know exactly what you want?”
She gives a little shrug, her bare shoulder jutting up. “I want you. It’s really quite simple.”
That makes my heart squeeze. Maybe even glow. Warmth fans through me as I linger on her statement for a moment. This thing between us seems like it ought to be quite simple. Two adults enjoying each other’s company.
But it’s not simple at all.
It’s fraught with complications.
Even though we want a lot of the same things—connection, intimacy, conversation—I’m keenly aware that we don’t truly want the same things. I’m a relationship guy, and even if she’s been a relationship woman before, that’s not where she’s at right now.
She’s choosing to take a break.
She needs one.
Hell, she deserves it.
I can’t push her. I won’t push her. That’s not my style, and it’s also disrespectful of her journey. I can’t imagine extracting myself from a long, loveless marriage, finding my own way, starting my own business, and then being sucked into the vortex of another relationship.
I wouldn’t want that.
I understand why she doesn’t either.
I move away from matters of the heart.
I need to zero in on something inanimate.
The furniture.
Perfect.
I gesture to the living room. “Thank you again for putting everything together. I know I said that when you first came over, but I was distracted by getting you naked, and now I want to properly thank you and say that was incredible, what you did.”
“Oh, I think you did thank me properly,” she says, playfully lingering on the words.
“I’m glad you feel it was a worthy way to show my gratitude.”
“So worthy.” She taps her chin. “But are you saying you’re not distracted by getting me naked now?”
I shake my head, laughing. “I’m pretty much always thinking about getting you naked. But I simply wanted to say your gift was a lovely, delightful surprise.”
“Does it suit you? Your furniture?”
I glance at the newly built couch, chair, and table in the other room. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I don’t really care that much about furniture and whether it suits me.”
With a thoughtful look on her face, she asks, “What do you care about?” She takes another bite of the pasta primavera as she waits for me to answer her latest question.
And this question is something I care deeply about.
Because this question is part of the connection between us, the easy way we can segue between teasing, dirty talking, and then diving in deep.
These talks matter to me.
I care about her.
About how we are together already.
But I don’t say that yet. Now isn’t the time. The time might not ever be.
Still, I answer honestly, repeating the question. “What do I care about?” I mull it over for a few seconds. “I care about doing the best job that I can as a vet. I care about helping animals. I care about my parents, my sisters, their children. I care the most, of course, about my own son, which still kind of amazes me every day, since I never intended to have a kid. And yet it’s as if I can’t remember a time when I didn’t care for him.”
She smiles, big and genuine. “Does it sometimes feel like the first seven years of his life didn’t happen, because living as you know it started when he came into your life?”
My eyes widen, and I feel completely seen, thoroughly understood. “It does feel that way. And I loved my life beforehand. I thought it was great. Then he came into it, and suddenly it felt like the most important part of it had begun at last.” I take a beat, noodling on those thoughts, on how right and true they feel. “Does that make any sense at all?”
After taking a drink of wine, she nods. “It makes perfect sense, because suddenly you know exactly what you’re supposed to be doing and why. You go from sometimes wondering what the point of it all is to knowing what the point is of everything.”
