Page 117 of My Killer Blind Date

I surprised him at his place with my attempt at a gourmet meal. The pasta carbonara was clumpy, the noodles overdone and the asparagus charred, but he swore it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. Then, as we were cuddling in bed afterward, he asked me if I might want to move in when my lease was up.

I pressed in close. ‘As long as I never have to make pasta carbonara again.’

He grinned. ‘I was afraid you’d say we’re moving too fast.’

‘Good point. I did think you were a serial killer eleven weeks ago …’

‘Has it already been eleven?’

‘I don’t know, I’m bad at math. But as long as you take over as chef, I’m up for anything.’

His lips split into a huge smile, and then we were kissing, him rolling on top of me and murmuring, ‘And you haven’t even had my arroz con pollo yet …’

‘Oooh, yeah, do more food sexy talk,’ I murmured back. ‘What other things will you make me?’

‘Short ribs … poached ginger chicken … risotto, of course, that’s a no-brainer …’

At which point, I fell silent as he did … other things.

Now, walking toward the coffee shop on this hot Tuesday morning, I feel happy. It seems unbelievable, but here we are. I survived my walk through hell, and now good things are happening. I know that won’t be the case forever, but I’m going to ride the wave as far as it takes me.

We’ve reached the door. The inside is a mess, but somehow, that feels promising to me instead of stressful. Good things can come out of chaos, as I’ve learned.

‘Hey, I just realized there’s no actual coffee maker in your coffee shop yet,’ says Liam as I unlock the door and swing it open, a cloud of dust literally rising to meet us. ‘Want me to go grab us something?’

‘I’d be forever in your debt,’ I say, going on tiptoes as we stand in the doorway. He leans down and our lips meet. He pulls away – then comes back in. By kiss number six, I’m laughing.

‘Stay on track! I was promised caffeine!’

He grins and cups my face with one hand. ‘I’ve been away from you too long. I’m in deficit.’

‘You’re going to be more in deficit if you dangle caffeine in front of me and don’t deliver.’

‘Noted,’ he says. Then his eyes get serious. ‘Hey. I love you.’

My heart thunders. This is the first time he’s said it since that terrible night. I stay silent.

‘I think I loved you from night one,’ he continues.

‘No, you didn’t! You were trying to squeeze me for information!’

‘Sure, but also, no.’ His voice is sincere. Emphatic. ‘It was love at first sight.’

‘Love?’ I say, dubious, but also kind of really enjoying that idea. That the night I walked into Wine & Thistle for my blind date, he fell for me. Right away.

‘Love,’ he repeats.

‘Are you sure this isn’t revisionist history?’ I tease in a low voice.

‘It’s the truth,’ he whispers, and comes in for another kiss, this one slower, more intentional.

My body responds, and I loop my arms around him, my right knee involuntarily coming up …

OK, we cannot fuck in the door of my new business.

I push him away, a little breathless. For a second, we just look at each other. His gaze is smoldering.

Then he smirks, mouths ‘coffee’ and heads off down the street toward the nearest cafe, which is four blocks away and always busy. He’ll be a minute.