Page 4 of Dream Girl

“Are you crazy?” I speak my thoughts, rushing to him and taking his hand to see the skin unaffected by the heat.

I turn them over, not believing my eyes when I get his palm into my vision again. There is only a slight tinge of redness on his fingers where he had touched the black tray, but that’s about it.

What in the world is his hand made of?

“You were going to use your own hands,” he says, blatant disapproval in his voice.

“I was looking for mittens, you caveman,” I grumble, blowing cold air on his hand.

That’s useless effort when he takes his hand away with amusement flashing in his brown eyes. This is by far the least amusing thing I have experienced because my heart is still trying to clam down from his stunt.

I spare a glance at the slices of bread, and my teeth ache from the extra crunch that I know will come from them. Well, we have vinaigrette to deal with the hardness.

“Let’s eat, crusty man.”

That’s a lie. Milo is not crusty because I make him put on a special type of lotion on his feet and hands before he sleeps since there are some ingredients in the lotion that helps with sleep and relaxation.

He hates it because it’s thicker than normal lotions, so it takes a while to soak into the skin. Or it could be that his skin is too thick and it’s even harder for the lotion to go into his skin.

Milo roughly and very affectionately rasps his knuckles to my skull. I yelp in pain and at the hollow echo in my ears.

“I’m just kidding. You’re smoother than a—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

I gulp at the warning in his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

A grin spreads on my face as he takes the semi-cool tray and the glass of mixed vinaigrette to the coffee table in the living room where I have a channel playing on the television. I follow him with the rest of the food.

Sitting next to him on the floor, I lean back to the couch and bite into the slightly burnt bread with a happy smile on my face. I’ll be happy eating anything as long as it’s made from the capable hands of Milo.

“You look stupid,” he says, breaking the haze of bliss that I’m in.

I frown, chewing on the crunchy bread while narrowing my eyes at him. “I don’t!”

“It’s just bread. Why are you so happy?” Milo doesn’t understand the blissfulness of domesticity, but I do.

“You braved your soul against a fire-breathing dragon to get this bread safely into my mouth, so of course I’m going to be happy eating it.”

I know I’m being dramatic and the look on his face says it too, but I can’t help it when the restlessness in his eyes leaves to be replaced with fondness.

“It’s just bread,” he reiterates.

“It’s the fruit of your sacrifice.”

I can hear his eyes rolling.

Chapter Two

Milo

I don’t know if it works or not, but this mandatory therapy the court had assigned me has been a pain in the ass.

The woman in front of me has her legs crossed, glasses perched on her nose with keen eyes, and a clipboard on her lap to take notes on this session.

I don’t remember how many times I have seen her, but I know that I won’t get this indefinite therapy taken off without showing progress.

In the beginning, I was uncooperative, and I hated having my mind being pried open by words. It had taken weeks for me to be able to speak of one thing that had happened in my day, but it had nothing to do with this woman’s effort to get me talking.

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