Page 59 of Love You Truly

“Sorry. I need to stop doing that.”

“What?”

“Underestimating you.”

A sliver of the smile returns, but it’s so much better than the broad, happy look he wears most of the time. This little sliver is earned, and I want to make an effort to gain more of them.

He leans toward where I’m holding a grocery bag against my hip. “So…what are we cooking?”

I start for my front door, but Dash is already wresting the bag from my grip and slipping it under his arm like it weighs no more than a pound. His shoulders flex, and I’m not above enjoying the view.

“Spaghetti puttanseca with goat cheese, a garden salad, and a chocolate tart.”

Dash spins around. “Chocolate tart?”

I bat my eyes innocently. “Yes, why? Do you know someone who likes chocolate tarts?”

He pulls me into his arms and kisses me. Like almost every kiss, this one gets hot fast, and Dash nearly drops the bag of groceries as our tongues swirl against one another.

“Damn,” he says when we break the kiss. “Never gets old.”

“Nope.”

It scares me a little bit how good it feels to kiss him because this arrangement is fake and I can’t get too attached to him. But it’s better than anything I’ve ever experienced with a man. More and more, being with Dash doesn’t feel like an act. It feels like we’re dating.

We start unloading the groceries in my kitchen, where Dash moves a fruit bowl off my center island. I open the blinds wider to let in the afternoon sun, which casts warm light on all the pale green-painted cabinets and kisses Dash’s face. I can’t blame the sun for wanting to do that.

Dash shuffles around my kitchen, taking out spices and various pots and pans as though he’s cooked here a million times. Together, we work harmoniously without recipes, pinching and dashing our way to a dinner that sizzles on the stove an hour later when my parents arrive.

“Dashiell Corbett,” my mom says, shaking out her blond bob and grasping both of Dash’s hands in hers. “Haven’t seen you since you were a kid. When Mallory told me about the two of you…I was just delighted. Dad’s checking the engine on the car. He heard a noise…”

“I can go take a look,” Dash offers.

“That would be wonderful.” She kisses Dash on both cheeks. “How the Europeans do it,” she explains, gesturing for me to follow her into the kitchen. She carries a brown paper bag, which she sets on my center island. “Sourdough. You can serve it with dinner or have it tomorrow. It’s from a little farm in Healdsburg.”

“Thanks.”

She tips her head toward mine conspiratorially and speaks quietly. “You two look happy.”

“We are,” I assure her. “Which was why I was so upset you insisted on giving Felix so much control.”

“Oh, well dear, he’s family.”

“He’s not family. But Dash will be. So you can send Felix packing.”

The light coming through my kitchen window makes my mom look like she has a halo of sunny frizz, but the angle makes it hard to see her expression. I move to the other side of the island, and she turns to face me.

She’s frowning. “I think it’s wise not to make any rash moves.”

“Like what?” What could qualify as a rash move for a woman who putters around after sheep all day?

“Felix isn’t going anywhere, and he’s capable of running things here. If and when you’re actually married again, we can revisit the situation.”

“If and when?” I couldn’t have heard her right.

“I’m just saying, long engagement, a lot could happen. It’s good to have options.”

I wipe a hand over my face because there’s no talking sense into my mother. She can “if and when” my ass because I’m going to make sure our wedding happens sooner rather than later.

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