Page 79 of Wedding Season
He continued to stand in her doorway, seemingly undeterred.
“Fine. You’re like some kind of modern-day Sherlock Holmes determined to uncover every one of my secrets, even the most innocuous ones.”
“I want to know every secret you have,” he confirmed. His eyes took on an intensity that made it hard for Mariella to breathe.
She opened the door wider and took a step back. Then she whipped her towel-wrapped hand around and held it up for his inspection. “I don’t have any big secrets other than I’m a klutz and no good in the kitchen. I cut myself chopping an onion. You rang the doorbell and it scared me so, in essence, it’s your fault.”
He stepped inside and took her bandaged hand in his. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”
“I’m fine, but thank you for the kind offer.”
“What are you cooking? It smells singular.”
She narrowed her eyes, feeling at once amused and exposed by him. “Apparently, I’m cooking cereal because that’s what I’m good at.”
“Cereal is a highly underrated dinner food,” he told her.
She laughed even as she shook her head. “Don’t do that. Don’t be nice. I’m plenty capable of cooking a decent meal. I’m capable of a lot of things that normal girlfriends do.”
“Have I ever given you the impression that I want or expect you to be regular?”
“I know it’s what you want. You’re a white-picket fences/minivan type of guy.”
“Minivans are also underrated.” He smirked but went serious at the look of distress that she clearly wasn’t doing a great job of hiding. “Mariella, I don’t care if you cook for me. I’m not looking for you to change who you are.”
Wasn’t that just the problem? He was making her want to change without even asking. Just by his goodness. A shiny halo seemed to glow around him. “Now you’re making me sound pathetic and it’s pissing me off.”
“I don’t mind pissing you off.”
“Of course not.” Because he was damn near perfect. He could handle her moods and her insecurities and he made her feel like she might be able to handle them, too. Even though she knew that wasn’t true. Eventually they would pull her down like they always did. If he got too close, they would pull him along with her. There’d be nothing either of them could do to stop it.
She took a breath and reminded herself that they weren’t at that point yet. She was borrowing trouble that didn’t belong to her. She had plenty enough to deal with in the here and now.
“I have eggs,” she blurted.
Alex nodded. “I don’t like fried eggs or runny scrambled eggs.”
For some reason, this bit of choosiness on his behalf delighted her.
“You’re picky about your eggs.”
“I’m selective,” he conceded then added, “I do have opinions, you know. I’m not a doormat or a man who can be easily manipulated.”
“Not when it comes to eggs, anyway,” she said, trying to hide the giggle in her voice but not a lot.
“This entertains you?”
She nodded. “Very much so.”
“You are definitely not regular,” he confirmed. This time she didn’t take offense because he spoke the words with too much affection.
“How do you feel about omelets?”
The corners of his mouth pulled down. “I feel like you can’t make them without runny insides.”
“A frittata then.”
“That sounds delicious. What can I do to help?”
