Page 15 of All I Desire

I scowl and wave them off. We watch as they walk to Nina and surround her. She pets Chunky as they all chat.

“They are checking up on you, right? Or do you think they’re here for a reason? Is something wrong?”

I sigh. “No. Nothing’s wrong. They’re just being nosy. They’re like that. They also have a love of the absurd.”

“It’s good to have friends who care. And who have a sense of the absurd.”

I shrug. “They’re kind of more than friends at this point. They’re all dating, or engaged, or married, to my brothers.”

“You have four brothers? Any sisters?”

“Nope. I’m the only girl.”

“Guess I can’t screw up with you, then. Your brothers will come after me.”

I turn from the group and raise an eyebrow. “I think you’d have to answer to me first if you screwed up. I’m way scarier than my brothers.”

He wraps an arm around me. “I don’t know about that. But I do know that I’m going to try not to screw up with you.”

Why do his words make me feel warmer than his kisses?

“I can almost hear them talking to Nina.”

We pause to listen. Isabella utters the phrase “serial killer.”

“I’m not a serial killer,” Matthew calls out.

The group turns to look at him. Isabella lets Chunky down. While attached to his leash and still wearing the glasses, he wanders a few feet and hikes his leg on a discarded beach pail.

For the third time, I wave them off. “He’s not a serial killer. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

Giving us one long look, they turn and shuffle down the beach in formation.

For the next hour, as the sun slides out of sight and dusk falls, we eat the sandwiches — Cuban, my favorite, finish the water, devour the cookies, and kiss for a solid fifteen minutes. I openly ogle his chest. I find out that he used to be a long-haul commercial pilot, that he likes cats, and that his daughter will be here in another week or so.

That last detail is the only thing I’m not thrilled about. Still, when Nina finishes taking photos and we’re standing near my wagon, I don’t hesitate to say yes to a date on Friday — five days away. I’m crazy attracted to Matthew, and possibly getting in a few nights of crazy sex before his offspring comes to live with him seems like an excellent idea.

“I can make dinner,” I pipe up.

Where did that come from? I don’t cook. Thirty percent of my meals are eaten at the resort, another thirty at Ma and Dad’s, and the final thirty are takeout or frozen.

“Great.” He’s beaming.

“Do you like lasagna?” What am I saying?

“Pfft. I’m Italian, remember? I can eat a boatload of lasagna.”

“Then a boatload of lasagna it is.”

“Awesome. You know, I’d ask you over tonight, but I’ve got to get across the state for my kid.”

I nod. Kid obligations. My stomach fizzes. “That’s a lot of night driving. How far is it?”

He shrugs. “Three hours if there’s no traffic. I’d rather take the plane, but it’s in the shop.”

My rapid blinking causes him to explain.

“I own a small plane.”

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