“And it doesn’t… weird you out?” I hold my breath, focusing on the feel of his skin against mine.
“No. It doesn’t. It makes sense.”
“It does?”
“Of course it does. You’re a guy, and you just want to be like other guys. But think about it this way: all guys are different anyway.”
“It’s not the same.”
“I know it’s not, and I’m not trying to make light of how you feel. But I want you to know that it’s okay. Whatever you feel is okay.”
“Thank you.” I press a kiss against his lips, and he kisses me back, humming against my mouth. “Now, can we please talk about something else?”
“Of course. What do you wanna talk about?”
“Uhm… dinner maybe? Do you have something else we can cook?”
“Let me check.” Caleb lets go of me, and I instantly miss the feeling of safety I’ve come to associate with him. He heads to the fridge and starts rummaging through it. When he resurfaces, his arms are filled with eggs, a chunk of Gouda, green bell peppers, and an open package of prosciutto. He drops everything on the kitchen island, then eyes me, smiling crookedly. “This is it. Pathetic, I know.”
“I can work with that.” I walk up beside him.
He groans and tips his head back. “I was supposed to cook for you.”
“It’s okay. We’ll cook together. It’ll be fun. We need a bowl.”
“A bowl?” He looks at me like I’ve suddenly switched from English to Cantonese.
“Yes. Youdohave a bowl, right?”
“Of course. I mean, I think so at least.” Panic flickers in his eyes, and I can’t help laughing. I love seeing this side of Caleb, a less certain and confident one. He’s always so together, so it feels good seeing a more vulnerable version of him.
I shake my head, smiling, while my heart races in my chest. “You’re hopeless.”Hopeless and amazing. Really, truly amazing.
“Not a lost cause, I hope?” The last remnants of vulnerability in his eyes fade, and he’s back to being his teasing, flirty self.
“Never.”
He starts opening every cabinet in search of a bowl, leaving the doors open. I reach for the bag of peppers and focus on the food. I smell the prosciutto, but it’s fine. My thoughts drift as my hands work with experience. I bared another part of myself to Caleb today, and he caught me when I threatened to spin out of control. He didn’t freak out, but he didn’t try to play down my fears either. He was just there for me, listening and keeping me grounded. And as much as I love kissing Caleb—becauseI really fucking love kissing him—I love him being there for me, listening to me, even more. He even read about what to expect. Warmth pools in my chest, and I feel the last bit of tension in my body bleeding away.
“Victory!” Caleb yells, and I nearly drop the peppers. “Found it.” He beams at me, holding up the smallest fucking bowl in the universe.
I snort. “What’s that?”
He frowns at me. “A bowl, baby.”
Fuck, that ‘baby’ he just throws around so generously. He has no idea what it does to me.
“Okay.”
“What?”
I bite back another snort. “Nothing. Now you just need a whisk.”
He instantly pales. “Oh shit. I’m not sure I have one.”
I shake my head. “You’re impossible. Use a fork instead, then.”
“Yes, chef!” He salutes me, then leans in and growls against my chin. “Fuck, you’re sexy when you cook.”