Page 80 of First Impressions of You

“You sure do.”

“I don’t,” I insist. He cocks an eyebrow at me. “But, hypothetically, if I did… what would I have said?”

“Hypothetically, you would’ve said that you were really, really, really,” he emphasizes the word as if repeating it multiple times wasn’t enough, “happy that I came to pick you up.”

I don’t know if I believe him or not. But if I’m honest with myself, I really am happy that he came. I’m happy that I’m with him right now.

“And,” he continues, “you said you were really hungry. Like, if I didn’t give you food in the next hour, you’d commit murder. I figured I’d be the victim, so I’d like to avoid that.” He looks out the windshield. “That’s why we’re here.”

I follow his gaze. We’re at a Vons parking lot.

“You’re feeding me… at Vons?”

“Nope,” he says simply, unlocking the car and getting out. All I can do is go after him.

“What…” I have to run a bit to catch up with his large steps. “Winter, wait. What are we doing here?”

He stops and waits for me to get to him. “Buying food so I can cook you dinner.”

Never in my life has a man other than my father cooked for me. And damn if Winter can’t cook. He made us my favorite type of risotto, with Parma ham and brie, and when I told him that, he simply smirked at me as if it was old news.

Now I’m sitting on his couch, waiting for him to return with our glasses of wine. White again, because I still don’t trust myself on this couch that looks like it costs more than a month’s worth of rent. He didn’t let me move a fork. Not even to do the dishes after he’d cooked everything. I’m being totally spoiled tonight, and I’m not complaining.

Julia called while he was preparing dinner, and I stepped onto his backyard to answer the call. I told her that I was okay, but for whatever reason, I didn’t tell her who I was with. She didn’t press me, and after a couple of minutes, we hung up.

As he makes his way to where I am on the couch, I finally realize he’s not wearing his usual worn-out jeans and white T-shirt. Instead, he has a deep burgundy Henley on, and I hate how great he looks in it. Does he ever look bad? I bet he could make even a bumblebee costume look hot somehow.

It suddenly clicks in my mind.

“Were you out when Julia called you?” I ask out of the blue.

“Huh?”

“When she called you asking about me,” I explain. “Where were you?”

He gives me a quizzical stare. He’s trying to understand why I’m asking that question. And I can see he’s pondering how to answer it. For the way he sighs, I must assume he’s going with the truth. “I was at a bar. Why?”

“It’s nothing. I just… why did you leave, then? You didn’t have to come looking for me.”

“I didn’t have to,” he repeats. Then he leans down to rest his wine glass on the coffee table. As he moves back, he leans towards me. His lips touch my pulse point, and I’m sure he notices when my heartbeat goes through the roof. “But I wanted to.”

“Why?” I ask, my voice coming out breathier than I expected.

“Because I needed to see you,” he says, kissing the spot behind my ear. His teeth nibble at my earlobe, and a shiver runs down my spine.

“Why?”

“Because…” He nips at my shoulder, leaving an open-mouth kiss afterwards. “The thought of you hurting hurts me. Because I’ll take any excuse to be with you. And because,” he says, with a certain finality in his voice, “I’m done with being patient when all I can think about is all the things I want to do with you.”

“Like what?” I manage to ask, as I feel the little control I still have over my brain snap when Winter’s mouth starts exploring every inch of skin his lips can reach.

“I’m better at showing than telling.” He smiles against my mouth.

“Show me then.” I want it to sound like a challenge, but it comes out more like a plea.

Winter is on his feet in a second. Bending over me, he nudges his arms under my ass, and I instinctively hold onto his neck. He pulls me up without much effort, guiding my leg to wrap around his body.

“Winter,” I gasp. “I’m heavy.”

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