Page 39 of Some Sort of Love (Happy Crazy Love 3)
“I never thought about that. You could eat it in a bowl,” I suggested, grabbing the bottle of whiskey I’d bought for tonight and breaking the seal.
“What’s the point of ice cream in a bowl?” He set a package wrapped in white butcher paper on the counter. “That’s boring. But I will eat it with pie.”
“What kind of pie do you like?”
“Jillian pie.” He threw me a grin over one shoulder. “But other than that, I’m not picky.”
“Well, you’ve already had your fill of Jillian pie for the evening, but I have—”
“Not true,” he said, pulling out a package of bacon, a bag of greens, and some other vegetables. “My appetite for Jillian pie is never-ending, and it goes so well with bacon-wrapped steak bites. But go on.”
I grinned and pulled two glasses from a cupboard. “I was going to say, my mother gave me a cherry pie this week. She bakes them constantly. Did I tell you I grew up on a cherry farm?”
“No. Did you really?”
“Yes, on Old Mission. Not too far from Abelard Vineyards.”
“I’d love to see it sometime.” He stuck a few things in the refrigerator.
My heart fluttered. “Sure. We could bring Scotty if you want.”
He closed the fridge but stayed facing it, and my brain went a little haywire.
Oh shit. I said the wrong thing. I’m moving too fast. He doesn’t want me to meet his son. He just wants to keep this casual. Friendly. Nonromantic.
But then what was he doing here with bacon and steak? That wasn’t like coming over with a pizza and a six-pack. Bacon and steak said romantic. Bacon and steak said serious. Bacon and steak said couple.
He turned around and looked at me. “You want to meet Scotty?”
“Of course I do.” I twisted my hands together. “If you want me to.”
He walked toward me, and my stomach knotted. I couldn’t read his expression at all. “Jillian. I do want you to meet Scotty.”
“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ there.”
His jaw twitched, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I wish there wasn’t. I want this to be so much simpler than it is.”
“Talk to me.” I leaned back against the counter, my hands gripping the edge, feeling unprepared to deal with whatever was coming. “I can take it, Levi. I’m a big girl. If you want to keep your son separate from us, just say it. I mean, I don’t even really know what ‘us’ is.”
He reached for my hands and held them between us, staring at them. “I don’t either. But I’ve been thinking about this all week, and I know what I’d like us to be.”
“Which is?”
His eyes met mine. “I want us to be together.”
“As in…romantically?”
“Yes.”
Warmth flooded me, and I rose up on tiptoe. “I want that too.”
“But Jillian.” He squeezed my hands. “I have to be honest—I’m a seriously shitty boyfriend.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I can’t give you what you deserve.”
“Which is what?”
