Page 45 of The Reaper

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God, that control.

I pressed my thighs together and exhaled, eyes fluttering shut.

This was ridiculous.

I was a grown woman. A business owner. I had a full prep list for today and a lunch service I’d foolishly agreed to test out on Saturdays.

I did not have time to obsess over a man who may or may not be able to serve as emotional bedrock or fuck me into clarity again.

Still …

I tapped a single line into the message field.

Are you awake?

I stared at it for a full minute before I deleted it.

Too casual.

I tried again.

Dinner’s on me next time. If you’re not afraid to let me cook with you watching.

Delete.

Too suggestive.

Too much power handed over on a silver plate.

Finally, I typed:

Last night left me with more ideas than I know what to do with. Wouldn’t hate seeing you again. When are you free?

I read it three times.

Then hit send.

No emoji. Just clean. Direct. Like I wasn’t flailing inside.

I set the phone down and walked away from it.

Across the kitchen. Through the house. I even walked a lap around the courtyard, barefoot on the stone path, pretending I wasn’t waiting.

But I was.

When I came back inside, the screen was lit.

Tomorrow night? I want to see what else you’ve got.

I smiled.

Wide. Stupid. The kind of smile I hadn’t let myself feel in months.

Maybe longer.

I typed back:

Bring an appetite.

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