Page 55 of Burn for You

“Not my problem.” His eyes haven’t left the page of his book since he started this conversation.

I sit up and cross my legs. “Yes, your problem. You did this.”

“I’m not the one who’s going to be up all night thinking about it.”

“Like you were up all night last week, thinking about me getting myself off?” His eyes snap to mine. Got him. “Is that what it is? A new vibrator?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Tell me what it is, and you won’t hear another peep out of me for the rest of the night.” He just subtly shakes his head. If I wasn’t so focused on him, I’d barely notice he moved. “Pleaaase?” I beg. “Please, please, please.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He slams his book shut and stands up. “You’re like a kid at Christmas.”

“Tease me with a good time and I won’t let up.” His steps falter on his way to the kitchen at my words, just like I hoped they would. I can’t help it now. Something has switched between us, our taunts holding a different kind of tension to what they used to. Our conversations sit somewhere between bickering and flirting, and I don’t know exactly what to do with that.

Rafael reaches up and opens one of the cupboards far out of my reach. His big hand grabs a hold of whatever it is and pulls it down, before turning to face me and holding it behind his back.

I let a small smile slip. “Come on, then.”

He walks forward and places a mug on the island between us, and not just any mug. A whale mug. His tail curls around the side of the cup, making the perfect sized handle. My heart skips a beatas I imagine Rafael buying this. Something inside me melting at his thoughtfulness.

“Where did you get that?” I say, finally meeting his eyes, but he quickly looks away.

“I went to the market on Sunday.”

My mind flashes with the image of Rafael wandering through the market. Of him coming across the handmade mug stall and sorting through all the options before settling on the whale. Of him packing it up and bringing it home. Of him hiding it in that top cupboard. “Why did you get it?”

Apprehension sits in his dark eyes as they meet mine. “For you.”

I tug my bottom lips between my teeth. I don’t know what to say.

“You said my mugs were boring, so I thought I’d get you one with a little bit of…character.” He looks down at the mug and then back to me. “I can take it back if you don’t like it.”

“No!” I jump off the couch, shedding my blanket. “I love it.”

I walk over and pick it up, feeling the weight of the whale in my hands. “He’s perfect.” I meet Rafael’s gaze. “You didn’t have to do this. Your boring mugs did the job.”

“I wanted to.” My heart drops.

“Well, thank you.” I smile at him, and I swear he smiles back. Not with his lips, but with his eyes. Like the sun peeked through the dark clouds, just for a moment.

He walks over and opens another cupboard. He grabs out a packet and throws it on the counter in front of me. “I got some of these, too.” Mini marshmallows.

I smile even brighter. “You want a hot chocolate?”

chapter twenty-one

RAFAEL

I slump backinto my office chair with a sigh. Nico left over an hour ago and I’m still exhausted. That kid has bounds of energy that I cannot keep up with. My team seems to like him though—there are more smiles and laughs in the restaurant when he is around, and I hate to admit that I wish it was always that way.

I reach into my bottom drawer and pull out the Macallan that’s been sitting there since the night of the fire. I came here that night. Holed up in my office and locked the door. I couldn’t drink a drop of the whiskey though, it felt wrong. I wanted to reserve the bottle for a night worth celebrating. Not the night that still gets under my skin to this day.

But tonight, I don’t seem to care. I drink straight from the bottle. The warm liquid coating my throat as I swallow the drink down. A big sigh releases from me without any effort. It seems my natural state of being is sighing these days.

My mind throws me back to last night. To May asking me why in the hell I have such a ginormous dining table, and to the fact that I didn't really have an answer for her. I always thought that renovating that place would make me feel more at home, less like I was living in the home of my family. I thought Icould make it feel like mine. But all it does is points out how empty it is. How empty I feel. But having her there…it helps. As much as past me would pass out hearing that.

I push out of my chair and set the whiskey back on my desk before I trudge out to the front of house. It’s dark, and it’s quiet. Everyone else having left for the night. It’s just me and my restaurant.

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