Page 39 of Stealing Home

So why did walking out of this house feel different? He walked inside, Dom and Lucia following behind him. The house was empty, but it wouldn’t be for long. Soon it would be filled with furniture and toys, photographs and life, and the house would stop belonging to him in any capacity. It should have been satisfying, but it felt strangely like saying goodbye.

Dom broke the silence. “So, I was thinking.”

Gavin looked at him.

“When I’ve finished furnishing the place, and we’ve gotten settled…” Dom trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking far less sure of himself than he had a moment ago. “Would you like to come over for dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah.” Dom shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Gavin said.

“I do.”

“You paid me already.” Gavin raised an eyebrow.

“For the renovation.” Dom gestured toward the house behind them. “Not for…” He searched for the right words. “Everything else.”

Gavin frowned. “There wasn’t an everything else.”

“There really was.” Dom sighed. “Listen, this probably sounds dumb, but you made this place feel like a home. And you convinced me that you cared about this place as much as I did. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” The words slipped out before he could stop them, and he cleared his throat. “I mean… It’s part of the job.”

Dom studied him for a second before smiling again. “You keep doing that. Saying things like they mean more than you intended.”

Heat crept up Gavin’s neck. “I don’t…” He stopped.

Dom laughed quietly. “It’s okay. I understand.” He looked back at the rest of the house. “I just… I’d like to cook you dinner.”

Gavin hesitated. His first instinct was to decline. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he wanted to a little too much. Dinner was another level of personal, and it further blurred the lines they’d already crossed with their texting. But the job was over, and neither of them wanted a relationship, and they already had the start of a friendship. He could do dinner without it being weird. Probably.

“You cook?” he asked instead.

Dom looked insulted. “I’m Italian.”

Gavin laughed. “That’s not actually an answer.”

“It absolutely is.”

“So I’m supposed to assume competence based on your heritage?” Gavin tried to sound dubious instead of amused.

“My grandmother would have disowned me if I couldn’t make Sunday gravy.” Dom sounded downright scandalized.

“I’m intrigued,” Gavin admitted with a smile.

“I even make homemade pasta,” Dom bragged. “It’s very good too.”

“I don’t know,” Gavin said. “I’ll have to be the judge of that. I’ve eaten a lot of pasta.”

They both laughed, and the easy rhythm they’d somehow found through six weeks of text messages settled around them. Gavin didn’t know who he was trying to fool. There was no reason not to have dinner with Dom. Friends did that.

“I’d like that,” he finally said.

A bright smile spread across Dom’s face. “Yeah?”

Lucia chose that moment to let out a sleepy little squeak, and Dom looked down immediately.