Page 19 of Recklessly in Love

“What, you’re not going to eat with me?” I tease as he sets it down in front of me.

“Oh, I am,” he assures me with a wink. “I’ll be back with my tray.”

When he turns and leaves, I look at the spread before me. And I burst out laughing. I’m still laughing a minute later when he returns.

“What?” he asks, clearly a little affronted as he settles beside me. “You don’t like it?”

I wipe the tears of laughter from my eyes. “No, I love it,” I declare. “Really. Tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches takes me right back to third grade.”

He shrugs. “It’s what my mom always made me when I wasn’t feeling well. It’s my go-to comfort meal.”

I tilt my head, an unfamiliar sensation washing through me. “Greg, I’m … touched,” I say, naming the feeling. “You wanted to comfort me.”

He blushes and takes a bite of his grilled cheese with another shrug but says nothing. So, I go ahead and start eating. And it tastes every bit as nostalgic as I’d expected it would.

We eat in companionable silence until another unfamiliar feeling starts gnawing at me, and I stop eating.

“Is something wrong with the soup?” he asks. I look up to find him gazing at me in concern.

“Not at all. I was just … thinking,” I respond.

“About?”

I push the tray away, agitated in a way I’m ashamed to admit. “Nobody has ever cooked for me before. I mean, my mom has. And lord knows Mia has, but …”

“Ah,” he says, pushing away his own now-empty tray. “You’ve never had a man cook for you before.”

I press my lips together and shake my head. “Can’t say I have.”

Greg reaches up and brushes his thumb over my cheek. “I’m honored to be your first,” he teases, leaning in and placing a chaste, grilled-cheese-flavored kiss on my lips.

I scrunch my nose and make a face at him. “Well, I’m willing to bet I’m not the first girl you’ve fed in this bed. No man chooses sheets this nice by himself.” I try not to think too hard about the fact that I care about being another notch on his seriously luxurious bedpost.

“Well, that’s presumptuous,” he scoffs.

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you picked these out?” I ask, running a hand over the luxuriously thick and smooth material.

He rises and carefully sets the trays on the dresser opposite the bed before climbing back in until he’s right in my face. “No. I’m telling you that you’re the first girl I’ve fed in this bed.” And then his mouth is on mine, gentle but firm. Unbidden relief washes over me, and I open my lips to welcome him in, but he pulls back. “And that’s all we’re doing in this bed tonight, city girl. No taking advantage of me.” He winks and pulls me back on the pillows, cradling me against his chest.

“So, a woman did pick out these sheets,” I say, but since it’s against the hard plane of his pecs, it comes out garbled. He laughs, the sound rumbling through where my lips and cheek meet his shirt. And it makes me smile.

“Yes, but it was my Aunt Margaret, so you have nothing to worry about. I haven’t fucked anyone in this bed.”

I pull my head back to look at him. Hating that I’m not up for all the things I want to do to him after that declaration. “Yet,” I reply, batting my eyelashes.

He smirks and shakes his head. “I’m glad you like the sheets.”

“And I liked the dinner.” Greg gives me a deeply skeptical look. “Really. Thank you,” I add, running my hand down his chest, once again struck by this softer side to him.

“You’re welcome,” he replies. And then, as if out of nowhere, “What are you still doing here, Joanie? I didn’t expect you to stay in Alpine Ridge this long.”

I’m a little startled, but it’s a fair question. “I didn’t either,” I admit with a small shrug. Then, with a sly grin, “Maybe there’s just been enough worth sticking around for.”

Now he looks surprised. “Me?” he asks incredulously.

“Full of yourself much? I was talking about the macarons. And the spectacular array of winter sports. Concussions and all.”

He narrows his eyes at me, my humor fooling nobody.

---