Page 100 of Checking It Twice
“Mitchell?” Her voice is soft, almost amused.
“Yeah?”
“You can go now. Unless you want Lucy and Vivian to come back and find you staring at me like a lovesick teenager.”
“Right. Going.” But I don’t move. “Clare?”
“What?”
“I’m really glad you said yes.”
Her smile widens, the first genuine one she’s given me since we got back from Minnesota. “Me too.”
The following evening, I’m standing in my kitchen, second-guessing every decision I’ve made in the past week.
Cooking was supposed to be impressive. Personal. Something that showed I put thought into this instead of just making a reservation somewhere expensive and hoping for the best.When I texted Clare earlier and invited her over for dinner—she seemed into the idea.
Now, staring at the ingredients scattered across my counter, I’m wondering if impressive was code for “guaranteed disaster.”
My apartment looks good, though. I spent the better part of the afternoon cleaning, which mostly involved shoving everything I own into closets and pretending I’m the kind of guy who folds his laundry. The living room actually looks like an adult lives here instead of a twenty-seven-year-old who survives on takeout and Netflix.
I even made the bed, which felt optimistic and presumptuous in equal measure. Not because I’m expecting anything—okay, I’m hoping for something, but I’m not assuming—but because Clare deserves better than a guy whose bedroom looks like a tornado hit it. Which mine did, before I tidied up.
The pasta sauce is simmering, the salad is made, and I’ve got wine that cost more than my usual beer budget. I showered, shaved, put on a shirt that fits right across my shoulders without looking like I’m trying too hard.
I’m as ready as I’m going to get.
The knock on my door comes at exactly seven, because of course Clare is punctual. I take a deep breath, run my hand through my hair one last time, and open the door.
She’s wearing jeans and a soft gray sweater that makes her look touchable in ways that should be illegal. Her hair is down, falling in dark waves around her shoulders, and she’s got that careful smile that means she’s nervous too.
But she’s here. She came.
“Hi,” she starts, but I don’t let her finish.
I can’t help myself. The sight of her in my doorway, real and beautiful and choosing to be here with me, breaks whatever restraint I’ve been holding onto. I step forward, frame her face with my hands, and kiss her like I’ve been dying to do for days.
She goes still for half a second, surprised, then melts into me with a soft sound that goes straight to my core. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, and suddenly the past week of careful distance and professional boundaries feels like the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
“Hi,” I say, my voice rough with want and relief and something else I can’t name.
“Hi yourself.” Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen from my mouth, and she’s looking at me like I’m something she wants to keep. “That’s quite a greeting.”
“I’ve been wanting to do that for days.”
“Just days?”
The challenge in her voice makes me grin. “Come on,” I say, stepping back to let her in. “Let me show you around.”
Chapter Forty
Tours and Confessions
Clare
His apartment is nothing like I expected.
