Page 87 of First Comes Forever

I sigh.Adam and food.I used to think Adam was food-obsessed, but now I realize it’s his love language. All his fondest young childhood memories involve his mother’s cooking. He keeps himself open to the world and new experiences through his adventurous tastebuds. Whenever he’s worried about me, happy with me, sated from sex, or trying to express any sort of affection, he feeds me. If in a year from now I’m twenty pounds heavier, it’s because Adam Montgomery really loves me.

I pat my hair dry and comb it through, then pull on a plain T-shirt and a pair of boy-short underwear. I don’t know what Adam’s plans are tonight, but it better not be leaving the apartment. It’s Friday anyway. I know typically Friday is going out night for most people, but not for me and my girls. Fridays are about staying in, swapping battle stories of our dreadfully long work weeks, or in Noa’s case toddler mom-drama, and basking in our sheer dumb luck that we had each other to face all the shitty life stuff.

Lately, I want to go home. I miss my friend-family and my mom. Enough time has passed, and I came to L.A. for something that’s clearly not meant to be mine. I’m ready to be Amani again.

“Hey you,” Adam says with a big grin on his face when I emerge from the bedroom. He’s dressed casually, which is a rare occurrence for Adam. I’ve only seen him in sweatpants and an athletic shirt like this when he helped me move into his condo all those months ago.

He points to the kitchen island where he’s put out a spread of Styrofoam takeout containers and there’s a pitcher of red liquid with floating fruit. He then points to the TV where he’s paused on Season One, Episode One ofSex and the City.“Welcome to girls’ night. I figured you’d be missing your friends tonight.”

My mouth falls open, and I’m momentarily speechless. All I can do is soak in the visual. I’ve never had a man work this hard for me in my life.

Crossing the living room, I barrel into his chest and wrap my arms around his waist. My damp hair makes wet, see-through spots on his white T-shirt, but he only holds me tighter. “Full transparency, the sangria is Ocean Spray Cran-Grape juice because I’m not sure if you’re supposed to be drinking right now.”

Goodness.Leave it to the IVF police to be a buzzkill.

“Adam,” I say, leaning back slightly and tilting my chin up so I’m looking into his eyes. “I’m not pregnant.”

He plants a kiss on my forehead. “I figured. I’m sorry, baby.”

“But I love you, too.”

He kisses my lips this time. “That’s good to know.Thank you,” he says with a little smirk.

I cackle. “Ah, you’re going to punish me now because I called your big declaration over the phone cheap?”

He hooks his finger under my chin. “Any other day, I’d give you crap, but not today. How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

“A little defeated. That was a lot to go through for yet another negative test,” I admit. He rubs his hands up and down my back.

“I know. You did great, though. You surprised me.”

“How so?”

“Here, let’s get you comfortable first.” Releasing me, Adam grabs my hand and guides me to the couch. He pulls the throw blanket from the back of the couch over me and tucks in the sides. I’m alone for barely a minute when he returns with a paper plate of samosas, two different dipping sauces, and one large cup of the wannabe Sangria. Setting the loot on the coffee table, he settles into the couch next to me.

“Only one cup?” I ask.

He raises one brow, a wicked little smile on his face. “I come in you all the time, but you’re scared to swap a little spit?”

I laugh as he holds out his arms, inviting me into his snuggle. I tuck my head into the little nook between his chest and shoulder. There’s a perfect little natural divot that cradles my head. Or maybe I made that divot, seeing as I’ve been cuddling like this with him for months.

Adam grabs a samosa, takes the sacrificial bite of extra crust, and then holds it out to me so the warm, curry-flavor potatoes and onions are right at my lips. I take a huge bite, grazing his fingers.

“Whoa, chompers,” he says. “I’d like to keep my fingers.”

I’m trying to keep my mouth closed to chew while chuckling. Once I swallow, I say, “Holy shit. These are better than our go-to place in Denver.Much better.”

Adam pops the rest of the Samosa in his mouth. “Like I said, food is better in L.A.”

“Pshh. Visit me in Denver, and I’ll introduce you to real microbreweries and pork green chile-smothered burritos. There will be no going back.”

I smile, but Adam’s face flattens. “Visit you?”

“Well…yeah… The plan was always for me to move back home. L.A. was always meant to be temporary. I just came out here to find myself.”

He trails his fingers up and down my legs, still buried under the throw blanket. “Did you find yourself?”

I nestle deeper into his embrace. “I think I came here to find out what I wanted. Instead, I figured out what I didn’t want. That’s still part of the process, right?”

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