Page 91 of On the Line

But to me it is. It always is.

I pat myself down and tug on my clothes as if my frayed jeans and t-shirt actually need any kind of straightening up.

Idiot.Just open the door.

When I do, James greets me with a wide smile, wearing a white lace top and a flowy skirt belted at the waist. She holds up a bottle of red and a small bouquet of flowers as she walks in.

“Are those for me?” I ask, surprised.

Her cheeks pinken as she stutters over her response. “Yeah, I just thought, that maybe—it’s silly really.”

“What’s silly about flowers?” Taking them from her grasp, I kiss her softly on the lips. “Thank you.”

She gives me a sheepish smile and follows me into the kitchen.

Humming in delight, she asks, “What’s that smell?”

“It’s the tomato sauce, been simmering for the past hour,” I reply while finding a random jar, filling it with water, and placing the flowers in the middle of the table.

“I can’t believe we both managed to get Saturday off,” she says with glee, setting down the bottle of wine. “Do you want some?”

“Sure. Glasses are in the cupboard on your left.”

I had to bribe Itzel for me to get the night off, but it was worth it.

Any time spent with James is worth the prep shifts I had to agree to.

Especially after seeing the picture she posted online after we left Bella’s Café—my arm clearly in the background. Was it an oversight? Did she not notice? I studied it for far too long, wondering if I was reading into it, while her words from earlier that morning rang in my head.

Besides, you only soft launch someone you’re actually dating.

I’ve been so careful not to push James too far, too fast. My actions have been cautious, giving her the space she needs to process the trauma her past relationship left her with, biding my time—butfuck.

I’d be down at the town hall right now, locking her down forever if it was up to me.

She’s the one.

There’s not a single doubt in my mind.

“Before I forget,” I mutter, taking her key out of my pocket. “I should give this back to you.”

She sneaks a peek from over her shoulder while reaching into the cupboard to see what I’m holding up. “Oh,” she says, turning back to look at the cabinet. “You can keep it if you want. It’s a spare.”

I can’t see her expression, but her tone sounds a little nervous.

She wants me to keep it?

“Really? You sure?” I ask, the surprised pleasure clear in my voice.

“Yeah,” James says, handing me a glass of wine. “It’s no big—I mean, yes I want you to keep it.”

This feels much bigger than how casual she’s trying to make it sound, but I say nothing more. I nod and smile, keeping eye contact while I ceremoniously unclip my carabiner and slide the key onto one of my metal rings. Sipping on my wine, I take my time soaking her in as we lean on opposite counters, smiling into our glasses.

“Want to sous-chef me?”

Her face lights up, and my stomach warms in contentment.

“Of course,” she says, looking around the kitchen.

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