“Are you sure you want to get dressed?” Stefano asks me as I step out of the shower, and he hands me a plush white towel. “I really like you naked.” He leans in and kisses my wet neck.
“I’m not going to the kitchen and eating naked,” I counter, wrapping the towel around myself. “What if someone rings the doorbell?”
“We don’t answer.” He smirks and winks at me, and I just laugh as I watch him walk away from me, naked. His backside as good as his front side. I grab another towel before I flip my hair over and wrap it, twisting it up to soak up the water. He comes back a couple of seconds later dressed in boxers with a black shirt in his hand. “Here you go.” He hands me the shirt.
“Thank you,” I say nervously, which is the silliest thing since I just spent the last two hours, maybe even three, learning every single inch of his body. I know there isn’t one place on my body he hasn’t kissed, licked, bit, or sucked. I let the white towel fall from my body and put the black T-shirt on.
It’s huge on me and it’s in the middle of my thighs. “Fuck.” I look over at him and Stefano just comes to me. One of his hands holds my hip while the other comes up so his thumb can rub my cheek. “You’re so fucking sexy in my clothes.” His voice is low. “Every single time you take my breath away, but in my clothes.” He leans in and softly kisses my lips. “It’s even hotter than you naked.”
I smile shyly. “Are you sure about that?” We both laugh together.
“Okay, let me get you downstairs so I can get you fed and then have my way with you on the counter while you wear my shirt.” He slips his hand in mine as he pulls me to the kitchen.
“I’m pretty sure we can make it back to the bedroom,” I joke and he stops mid step and turns to me.
“My cock is ready to go now.” He points down at said cock. “I’m meeting him halfway.”
“Fine,” I concede, like I’m not the one who is going to benefit from him taking me on the counter.
We walk down to the kitchen. “What do you want to eat?” He looks over at me as he lets go of my hand and pulls open the fridge. “I’ve got a lot of stuff for breakfast,” he mentions and I lean on the counter.
“Did you?” I fold my arms over my chest, trying not to laugh.
“Well, I was hopeful I could charm you into coming back home with me,” he confesses, and I roll my eyes. “My mother said you liked me enough to sleep with me once, chances are you would sleep with me again.”
“You told your mother we were going to sleep together?” I screech.
“I don’t really tend to talk to my mother about things I do with my dick.” He shakes his head laughing. “But my mother tends to talk to me about what she thinks I should do with my dick.”
“Oh my God,” I say, putting my hands on my face, feeling the heat rise. “How the hell am I supposed to face her the next time I see her?”
“She knows we’ve had sex before,” he reminds me, grabbing the fruit out of the fridge. “We have a daughter.”
“I know but”—I put my hands on my head—“you were literally with someone a month ago.”
He stops moving. “With someone is a big word.”
I glare at him. “Did you or did you not bring her to a family wedding?”
“Yes,” he admits, and he’s about to say something else when I hold my hand up to stop him from talking.
“There is nothing that you can even say after that, so my advice is to just stop talking.” My glare does not leave my face.
“Duly noted,” he says. “I’ll also note that it took me less than two point three seconds to walk away from her.” I roll my eyes. “You can roll your eyes all you want, but it’s the truth. The minute I found you and Avery, it was over.”
“Whatever,” I mumble, not wanting to ever have this conversation because it’s super awkward, and the last thing I want to sound like is that I’m needy. I walk over to the drawer to grab a knife to start cutting the fruit.
“You can ‘whatever’ all you want, baby,” he says softly and I look over at him. He drops what is in his hands before coming over and standing behind me. His hands go to my hips, and he squeezes them. “It’s you.” He bends and whispers in my ear, “It’s always going to be you.” I turn my face, our eyes locking, my mouth going dry, my hands trembling just a bit as my heart races in my chest. I reach up with one hand to cup his cheek. “It will always be you.” He leans in to kiss my lips softly. “Avery and you”—his eyes stare into mine—“will always be my top priority.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat and all I can say is one word in a whisper, “Okay.” He smiles at me and then walks back to the fridge.
“So what do you think about omelets?” he asks me and I just nod my head.
“What can I do to help?” I reply to him, and he hands me the container of mushrooms.
“How does ham, onion, and mushrooms sound?” He takes out the clear deli meat bag and grabs a white onion. He points at the container in my hand.
“Cheese,” I tell him. “You have to have cheese.”
“Yes.” He puts the things on the counter next to me before walking back to the fridge, pulling open the stainless-steel door, and grabbing the bag of shredded white cheese. “Swiss is all I have.”
“That works.” I walk over to get two cutting boards. I open the plastic film, grabbing a couple of mushrooms out and start to quarter them.
“What is going through your head right now?” he asks me. He grabs a knife out of the drawer, then closes it with his hip, before coming back over next to me, cutting off the end of the onion.
I side-eye him and shrug my shoulders. “It’s strange we share this connection.” I grab another couple of mushrooms. “We share a daughter, and I don’t even know your favorite food.”
He chuckles next to me. “I don’t know if I have a favorite food,” he states, dicing the onion. “My yaya.” I look over at him. “That is my father’s mom. She makes the best pastitsio.”
“What is that?” I ask him as I grab more mushrooms.
“It’s this pasta bake. There are these long noodles that you put in a pan and then add meat sauce on top of the noodles.” He smiles as he tells me. “And then it’s topped with béchamel. It’s so good.”
“Sounds delicious.” I smile at him.
“It’s so good. I’ll ask her to make it for us when we go see her,” he says as if it’s not a big deal. “What’s your favorite food?”
“Probably chicken potpie, but with homemade crust that is flaky and buttery.”
“Sofia’s great-grandmother makes the best,” he shares and I nod my head.
“There is nothing she can’t cook and it’s always the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” I chuckle. “Her potato salad is hands down heaven.”
“Her chicken fried steak with gravy,” he counters, and I groan. “I’ve never seen my uncle Matthew shut up faster in my life.”
We both laugh. “So,” I start, “where do you work, exactly?” We’ve skated around the fact that he’s here, but we’ve never discussed him staying here permanently. I was under the impression he would get to know Avery and then he would jet out of town, coming back a couple of times a year. I think I tried to tell myself that to prepare for when he did leave. I also tried to tell myself that I wouldn’t care, but it’s evident to me it’s really going to suck when he does leave.
“I work all over, really,” he says, sniffling as he finishes cutting the onion. “The head office is in Washington.” My head spins as I think about how far away that is from us. “But I was in San Francisco right before the wedding.”
I gasp and look over at him. “That’s on my bucket list, I’ve been to LA before, San Diego but San Fran,” I tell him, “I’ve never been, but there was this special on television once. My dream is to watch the sunrise over the Golden Gate Bridge.” I shake my head. “Above the clouds.” I smile at him. “It’s magical from the pictures I’ve seen.” It was going to be my graduation gift to myself but, well, having a baby canceled that.
“I didn’t really sightsee. I was in the office for seventeen hours a day.”
“Well, I highly recommend it if you go back,” I tell him, even though I’ve never been.
“Noted,” he says, putting the onion in a bowl before placing the knife and the cutting board in the sink. “Do your parents know about Avery?” I look at him as he walks over to get another cutting board and knife before standing next to me. “I know they kicked you out and all that.” I see his hand grip the knife handle, his knuckles turning white. “But did they know you gave birth?”
“I don’t know,” I answer him honestly. “After they made me choose her or them, I left town.” I avoid looking at him, embarrassed my family did that to me. The hurt simmers under the embarrassment, especially since his family has welcomed us with open arms, never once judging me. “My sister was on my side for a bit after I left, my brother, well, he’s always been a dick, so he was on my parents’ side. We would text and talk daily, but then she quickly changed her tune when my parents threatened to withhold her allowance from her.” I shrug, trying to push away the sting of tears. “After that, I erased them all out of my life.” I take a deep inhale. “I wasn’t going to share the best thing I’ve ever done with them.” I look at him. “They didn’t deserve her.” I smile thinking of the little human we created together.
“I’m sorry you did that alone,” he says softly.
“It’s okay.” I turn and lean my hip onto the counter. “I will never, ever regret Avery.” I stop talking for a second. “With that being said…” He looks over at me as he dices the ham. “We didn’t use protection this time. I want you to know I’m protected.”
He nods his head. “Doesn’t matter to me,” he assures me, putting down his knife, turning to face me, his own hip on the counter. “But just so you know, I’ve never been without a condom.”
“The condom didn’t work the last time.” I try to make a joke.
“Look at what we created without even trying.” He smirks at me. “Can you imagine if we tried?” His eyes darken.
“Yeah, because that would be smart.” I fold my arms over my chest. “Let’s have another child together when you don’t even know where you will be in a month.”
His eyebrows pinch together. “Where do you think I’ll be in a month?”
“Well,” I say, wanting to kick myself for saying anything, “probably in Washington working.”
“Why would you think that?” he asks me, and I throw up my hands.
“Because that is where your office is,” I reply, trying not to sound like this bothers me. “How can you have an office in Washington and live here?”
“I don’t have to go to work every day,” he says calmly. “That’s the perks of owning the business, plus I never work in the office, I’m always off-site.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I turn away and walk to grab a frying pan.
“It does matter if this is what is going through your head.” He watches me put the pan on the stove and walks over to grab the olive oil.
“Nothing is going through my head.” I avoid even looking at him as I turn the knob for the stove. The clicking sound fills the silent room.
“Addison,” he says my name, “we are going to have this conversation.”
“And what conversation is that?” I move the pan around, making sure the oil spreads evenly.
“You aren’t going to look at me?” he calls me out.
“I’m cooking,” I say, looking at him for a second and then looking away, afraid he’s going to see even though I prepared myself for him leaving, it still bothers me.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, and my head whips around to look at him. “I’m here with you. You are here with me. I finally have you in my life. I finally feel.” He shakes his head. “I’m fucking happy. I might have to take business trips a couple of times a month, but this is my home.” He looks into my eyes. “This is our home.”
