Page 50 of One Wrong Move

“No, I would like less.” I open the freezer and show him the mountain of pastries I’ve squeezed in over the past few days. “We’ll never eat them all!”

That finally gets a smile out of him. “I guess I didn’t think of that.”

“And it’s always untouched when I come down. Do you even eat any of it?”

He runs a hand along the back of his neck. “Some days.”

“Wasteful,” I say with a soft tsk.

He nods and reaches for another bag, pulling out the package of flour. “So you’re, what? A professional chef on the side?”

“Not at all. I’m just a regular person who tries to feed herself and picked up a few skills along the way.”

“I’ve been alive for… thirty-eight years, and I haven’t picked up any cooking skills,” he says. I listen to him rummage around in one of the bags. “Crackers. Cheese. Apples. This is…”

“Domestic?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

I open the freezer and find a spot for the giant bag of frozen broccoli I bought. “I don’t mean to pry, but you sounded a bit annoyed on the phone when you came home. Everything all right?”

There’s complete silence behind me.

I open a drawer in the freezer and put in the chicken breasts. “Don’t mean to overstep, you know. You’re allowed to say no comment. Just wanted to ask how you’re doing.”

“Harper,” he says.

I look over my shoulder with a smile. “If it’s—oh my God.”

He’s holding the slim, purple box in hand. It’s luxurious cardboard, with gold typeface printed along the top. It had set me back almost one hundred and twenty pounds, and I’ve yet to know if it’s worth it. The attendant in the little sex shop in Chelsea had assured me that it is.

“I don’t think this goes in the fridge or the freezer,” he says calmly, eyes still on the packaging. Reading.

A furious blush spreads across my cheek.

“Maybe the pantry?” he asks.

“Nate, that wasn’t… shoot. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I’m not,” he says. There’s something very controlled about his face, and his eyes slowly lift from the vibrator to meet mine. “I didn’t know they sold this at Tesco.”

“No, I went to a shop during lunch.” I look back down at the intricate package, still in his hand, his large fingers curving over the box. Embarrassment makes my voice higher than usual. “Are you inspecting that?”

The corners of Nate’s mouth finally tip up into a small, true smile. He holds up the box and starts to read. “Double the fun, double the orgasms. The extended tip is designed for internal stimulation of the G-spot.”

“Nate!”

His voice deepens. “The flexible second arm is ideal for clitoral stimulation and adapts to every body type.”

I bury my face in my hands. “Yes. That’s what a sex toy does.”

“Mm-hmm. The Sensation Siren 3.0. Oh, and look at this. It’s made from medical grade silicone.”

I spread two of my fingers to peek at him. He’s still turning the sex toy over in its box. He’s smiling, even if his eyebrows are drawn tight. “You don’t even have to look at it anymore. You’ve probably already memorized the entire packaging text.”

“Of course I have.” He sets the box down with a soft thud and looks at me. “It has twelve vibration settings to appeal to every woman’s personal needs. Who knew? Twelve.”

I finally crack and laugh weakly. “Yeah. There was one that had twenty-four but that felt like overkill.”

---