Page 34 of The Mountain Man's Mail-Order Mafia Princess

I twirled pasta around my fork. “My father thinks psychology is a fine degree and a terrible career.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“I haven’t decided what the career looks like yet. I only know the decision should be mine.”

Jonah held my gaze.

I took a drink of water.

“That’s a broad philosophical position,” I said.

“I was listening.”

“That’s worse.”

“Why?”

“Because I might keep talking.”

“You do that anyway.”

I pointed my fork at him. “You’ve become much too comfortable.”

“You cooked dinner in my kitchen.”

“That isn’t permission to become smug.”

“No, but it might be evidence that you aren’t leaving tomorrow.”

The fork lowered.

“You keep returning to that.”

“You’re sleeping in my bed.”

“We established that the bed is a logistical necessity.”

“You bought clothes.”

“I needed underwear.”

“You bought a dress for next week.”

“Red is seasonally appropriate.”

“You put your things in my drawer.”

“You cleared it.”

“Because you came back.”

I set down my fork. “What do you want me to say?”

“The truth would work.”

“You don’t know enough about me to demand the truth.”