Page 103 of Booked on You
He chuckles, and I love the sound of it. “Good. Now come over here, beautiful. I made you my famous carbonara.”
“Famous? According to who?” My heart stutters as I remember what I read about him today.
“According to anyone who matters,” Ezra replies. “Trust me, you’ll be moaning by the end of it.”
“I can only hope,” I say.
“Well, hurry up.” His warm laughter sends another flutter through me.
“Ten minutes,” I say. “I need a shower and a change of clothes.”
“I can’t wait to see you,” he admits, and I can hear the sincerity in his tone.
“I’ve been looking forward to it all day,” I tell him.
“I’m setting an alarm. Ten minutes,” he tells me.
“Okay, okay! Bye!”
I quickly end the call and save my document.
I’m giddy as I move to the bathroom, stripping off my clothes as I step into the shower. Usually, after a long day of writing, I’d stand under the stream for a minimum of fifteen minutes, but there is no time for that. I quickly wash my body and hair, then step out and dry myself quickly.
After a brief pause in front of the mirror, I run my fingers through my wet hair, then put on some jeans and a silk blouse.
Anticipation streams through me as I head outside into the fading evening.
The sky is painted in deep shades of violet and indigo, and stars begin to appear one by one. I cross the yard toward Ezra’s house, almost nervous.
As I approach the porch, the door swings open, revealing Ezra waiting with a grin that makes my heart rate increase.
“Did you sprint over here?” he teases, leaning against the doorway.
I playfully roll my eyes. “Maybe. Your carbonara had better live up to its reputation.”
He reaches out, gently tugging me inside by my waist until I’m flush against him, the warmth of his body radiating into mine. “Have I disappointed you yet?”
My breath catches slightly, heart tumbling into a faster rhythm. “Not even a little.”
“Good,” he whispers. “Because I’m not planning to start now.”
As Ezra leads me into the kitchen, the savory aroma of freshly cooked pasta greets me, and my stomach growls embarrassingly loud.
Ezra chuckles. “You weren’t kidding about being hungry.”
“I was busy being a best-selling writer,” I tease as he pulls garlic bread from the oven.
He pauses, glancing over his shoulder, eyes dancing playfully. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I breathe in. “I googled you.”
“Ah,” he says, like that explains it all. “You were concerned about me being able to handle all the things that came with being with you. Can you handle mine?”
I swallow hard. “It’s next-level, Ezra.”
“I know,” he says, pulling a ceramic bowl from the cabinet.
I grin. “Did you make these?”
