Page 1 of Dream Girl

Chapter One

Amelia

“I ate a plate of vegetables.”

My boyfriend steps into the apartment, and that’s the first thing I say.

He takes off his shoes with one burly arm balancing himself on the wall. He glances up briefly to look at my appearance before meeting my eyes.

I shoot him a grin, teeth gleaming in the hallway light while he finds his balance again. Milo is a tall man, obnoxiously tall in some people’s eyes since he has to bend his head down to go through the door.

His shoulders are about as wide as the door too, and I had jokingly asked him to be a door substitute if our door ever breaks. He gripped the top of my head; squeezed my skull as his answer, and I took it as ‘no’ indefinitely.

I have faith in my persuasion skills to change his mind.

“Did you really, though?” The sarcasm is heavy on his tongue when he leans down to kiss me.

I huff at his tone. The least he can do is congratulate me because I have never been a fan of vegetables. There is that taste that I can’t get over every time I bite into a cucumber, but that wasn’t the worst experience.

I bit into a bitter melon, and I thought I had glazed my tongue with poison.

That day was the day I learned to do my research before I go grocery shopping,

“Yes.” I nod vigorously. I want Milo to know that I’m telling the truth.

“Over how long?” he murmurs softly against my lips.

“A week, and I juiced it.”

I made a goal for one week that I would consume the recommended amount of vegetables in one day, but that was asking for trouble, so I juiced it with a ton of fruits to cover up the bitter taste.

“Of course you did,” he deadpans, eyes unimpressed and lips twitching at the corner.

I never hold back my smile in his presence as I beam brightly at him. I take a good look at him. He had been gone the whole day to do his thing with physical therapy for his injuries.

The blend between brown and black in his hair darkens under the florescent yellow light as his hot fingers curl into the drip of my hip to guide me into the living room. His scent is mingled with a trace of smoke and a hint of the environment outside this apartment.

“It’s gross.” I can’t tell if I’m talking about the juiced vegetables or the smoke on his shirt.

It’s not a smell that I’m accustomed to, but I noticed that he comes home a lot with that scent that sometimes my mind mixes that with his natural smell. Nonetheless, gunpowder smells too unique.

“I’m proud of you.” He presses a kiss to the side of my head.

I grin. A burst of happiness floods my heart with erratic heartbeats. I love it when Milo praises me, and I’m not ashamed to say that I’m desperate for his approval most of the time. I try to tone it down, but when he looks at me like I’m his whole world, I never want to let him down.

“I was going to make dinner, but I thought I should wait until you get home.”

He cocks an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to clarify what I mean. I can make dinner before he comes home, but it wouldn’t be as fun making memories of our dinner together. I like to include him in everything I do, and he doesn’t seem to mind it at all.

“I don’t know how to make a vinaigrette,” I admit with a blush at the memory of those failed experiences where I try to combine the oil and the vinegar together.

“You don’t eat salads,” he points out, stopping in front of the kitchen counter where I have all the ingredients out and a cookbook propped up against the large glass container for flour.

I tut at him, waving my finger side to side with a smirk. My eyes gleam with the brightness of a mischievous cat; I am eyeing the impassive façade of the man I love.

“You underestimate my research abilities.”

He scans the cookbook that’s opened to a page for Snow Chicken. It’s a new recipe that someone created where it’s practically cheese on top of cheese. I can never turn down the cheese, and there is no such thing as too much cheese.

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