“Are you baking?”
“Sort of. Cooking too.” Her face brightens, and I swear, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. “I’m making a pizza!”
I laugh. I can’t help myself. Pizza, in my kitchen? Homemade fucking pizza? I’ve survived on takeout and microwave meals for years and years, and now here’s this gorgeous woman, my own damn wife, listening to jazz and makingpizza.
She frowns and glances at the oven. “Do you like pizza? I guess I should’ve asked, but I mean, I just assume everyone loves it. Oh, shit, if you’re not into it, I just wasted hours making the dough, days letting it ferment in the refrigerator, and now more hours making the vodka sauce and getting it all stretched and?—”
I stride over to her, pull her into my arms, and kiss her. I kiss her hard so she knows what I’m feeling right now. I hold that kiss because if I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll lose my mind. I need her, I’m pulsing for her, and I feel like I might crumble to ash if I don’t hold on tighter.
But she eventually pulls back, grinning madly, her eyes bright with happiness. “So… you like pizza then?”
“I’m a fan.”
“You got a little—” She brushes at my cheek. “A little flour.”
“You too.” It’s all over her hair and streaking her face. “What happened in here?”
“Pure madness. But look at it.” I follow her gaze. There in the oven is a pizza. A real, honest-to-god pizza, the crust fluffing up, the cheese bubbling, everything. “I got this steel thing that cooks the bottom and I followed this dough recipe I found on Instagram, and I think it’s gonna be really good!”
“Caroline.”
“Look, if you hate it, that’s fine. You probably consume like ten calories of cheese and dough in a calendar year based on the way you look, but come on, it’s a cheat day, right?”
“Caroline.” I kiss her again, lightly biting her lower lip. “No matter what happens, I swear on my life, I’m never going to leave you again.”
She blinks in surprise. She’s breathing quickly and her grip on me tightens. “All because I cooked? It’s probably not even that good.”
“This place would be empty without you in it.”
“Even my mess?”
“Even your mess. Especially your stupid mess.”
She laughs and pulls away. “Hold that thought. I think it’s done.” She retrieves one of the big pizza spatulas. “What do you think of my pizza shovel?”
“Pretty sure nobody calls it a shovel.”
“The real word is dumb.Peel.” Her nose wrinkles. “I prefer pizza shovel.”
With surprising deftness, she opens the oven and retrieves the pie. It sits on a wire rack cooling as she claps her hands happily and checks to make sure the base is done to her satisfaction.
“This is going to be amazing.” She does a little dance, wiggling her hips and shoving her hands up in the air. “Pizza time, baby!”
I watch her, completely fucking bemused. All the bad shit I’ve done. All the horrible shit we’ve done together. And I end up here, with her, like this, in a bizarre moment of domesticity.
I love it more than I ever thought I could.
“Slice me up, wife.” I sit down on a stool and lean forward. “I want to taste you.”
“Ignoring the subtext and serving the za.”
I catch her wrist as she places it down in front of me. “Thank you.”
Her eyebrows arch. “Gonna say something weirdly nice and way too intense for the moment again?”
“I plan on fucking you brainless after I’ve eaten my fill.”
“Oh.” She blushes slightly. “Well. That’s inappropriate. You better say a bunch of nice things if you want to get in my pants this evening.”