when he declared it delicious. At least that part I got right—even if he did finish it.
“Tomorrow,” he announced, “we’ll go to my favorite market, buy some things, and make dinner together—okay? But we’re not leaving the house again after that. I want you all to myself.”
My chest warmed at his words. I liked the sound of that.
“I could make pancakes tomorrow,” I offered.
His gaze flew to the kitchen. I could see the worry on his face.
“I used to make really good ones,” I teased. “Hardly burned any of them. Bisquick and I were a good team.”
He snorted, his spoon dropping from his hand to cover his mouth. I had to laugh with him.
“Okay, maybe it would be best if I didn’t try to cook again this weekend without supervision. I could set the table again?”
He dragged my chair over and kissed me. “That sounds like a plan.” He grinned. “At least until I get a new fire extinguisher…a big one.”
When we were done, I tugged him into the living room. I’d messed up dinner, but I still had a few surprises.
“Julia.” He frowned as he took in the little pile of gifts.
“They’re just small. Honest. I didn’t spend much. Dinner was supposed to be your big gift.” I pushed the long, flat box with my finger. “Well, and this one.”
“I’ll save that one to last, then.”
His smile grew wider with every gift. There was so little I could buy him, but I knew the things he said he constantly needed. Thick, gray T-shirts to go under his chef’s coat, double-layered socks to keep his feet comfortable during long hours of standing. Luckily, the brands he preferred were ones I could afford. The bag of his favorite coffee beans had been extravagant, but as usual, he was correct; it was the best. His coffee spoiled me for any other kind.
For each gift he opened, I got a deep, lingering, thank-you kiss. I berated myself for not wrapping each T-shirt and pair of socks separately. I liked his thank-yous.
He picked up the last box and shook it. “Light,” he mused. “But very well wrapped.” He quirked his eyebrow at me, and I had to laugh—compared to the others I had clumsily wrapped, it was a work of art.
“The store did it.”
I watched with growing nerves as he slowly opened the paper and lifted the lid. He parted the filmy tissue paper with his long fingers, and a strange expression came over his face. I could feel my cheeks growing redder every passing second as he stared into the box. Maybe it had been a bad idea. I never should have listened to Melinda when I told her what I wanted to give him for his birthday.
Me.
I was about to speak when he lifted his head and gazed at me, his eyes suddenly dark and heavy-lidded, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ve never really thought pink was my color, Julia.”
“I—”
He pulled the lacy pink camisole out of the box, holding it up against his chest. “You don’t think this cut might make me look a little hippy? The lace is gonna fall right there. And this bow at the front? Not sure how it will go with my chest hair. It hurts like a bitch if they get pulled.”
I started to giggle as he dropped the camisole and held up the very tiny scrap of lace that constituted underwear. “And this…this is not gonna hold the package I’ve got for you in return, my girl.” He grinned and winked at me. “Not even remotely.”
“It’s…it’s for me to wear for you, Byron.”
“Ah. That makes so much more sense.” He paused. “Are you sure?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
He waggled his eyebrows at me and handed me the box. “I’d like to see my gift, then.” He drew in a deep breath, his voice dropping. “Now.”
“Are you sure?”
Bending forward, he pulled me between his widely spread knees, his hands running up the backs of my legs. Up and down they went, higher every pass—touching, caressing, teasing. I stared down at him, my breathing becoming faster as he slipped his fingers under the waistband of my yoga pants and cupped my ass, kneading it lightly. “I. Want. My. Gift. Now.” He pulled me closer, tight against his thighs. I could feel his hunger now, straining against the material of his trousers, pushing against my leg. “You have ten minutes.”
My voice was trembling in anticipation. “Okay.”
Clutching the box, I backed out of the room and fled upstairs.
I