Page 101 of This Life of Mine

It seems…ordinary.

And after everything we both carry, that might be the most unexpected gift of the night.

Chapter thirty-two

Lina

By the time Alex finishes the dishes, the kitchen looks the way it did before we had dinner. Clean and orderly.

I’m still perched on the counter, finishing the story about how Val and I came up with Enchanted Nook, about late-night planning sessions and laughter that turned into something tangible.

“And that’s how Enchanted Nook was born,” I finish, smiling. “Equal parts delusion and determination.”

Alex chuckles. “Well, delusion and determination paid off.”

He reaches into one of the bags he brought earlier and pulls out a bottle of wine. “I brought this Vin Santo along with dessert,” he says. “I might’ve made something.”

My eyebrows lift. “Youmight’vemade something?”

“Tiramisu,” he admits, almost casually as he opens the fridge and pulls out a dish.

I smile wide.

He pours us each a modest glass of wine, plates the dessert with care. One serving for me, one for him. He treats it with the same respect he did dinner.

We move into the living room and sit across from each other; plates balanced easily in our hands. The entirety of it has an odd sense of normalcy. As if this is routine instead of a first date.

“This is so yummy,” I say after my first bite, moaning with pure delight.

He smirks, watching me groan after each bite thereafter.

“I’ll have to make it again…just to hear those sounds,” he says.

I open my eyes and gulp a bite down, nearly choking.

He’s on his feet instantly, setting his plate aside and reaching for my glass to pour more wine. “Easy,” he says, steady but amused. “Too much can be fatal.”

I wave him off after a second, swallowing hard before giving him a glance. “You did that on purpose.”

His mouth curves. “Maybe.”

I take another sip of wine, slower this time, pointedly ignoring the way his eyes track the movement. The tiramisu is so tasty—light and rich all at once, soaked enough that it melts instead of collapsing.

“You’re dangerous,” I say. “You know that, right?”

He leans back into his seat, relaxed, one arm draped along the back of the couch as if he belongs there. “I’ve been told.”

I take another bite, smaller this time, but I don’t fight the sound that slips out of me. His eyebrow lifts in quiet triumph.

“God,” I mutter. “This is really good.”

The normalcy of it hits me. Wine. Dessert. A couch. The absence of the tension that usually knots itself around me whenever a man gets too close. There’s heat here, yes—but it’s contained.

“That was a lot of effort for a first dessert,” I say lightly.

He shrugs. “I don’t do half measures.”

Something about how he speaks—easy, factual—sends a slow awareness down my spine.