Page 75 of Stealing Home

“Nothing.”

A slow smile spread across Gavin’s face. “You sure?”

Dom folded his arms. “I was trying to decide whether bringing you home was a good idea.”

“And what have you decided?”

“Eh.” Dom shrugged one shoulder, aiming for nonchalant and knowing he wasn’t even close. “I guess you can stay.”

Gavin took a step closer, his voice teasing. “I can go if you’ve changed your mind.”

“I haven’t.” The answer came too quickly to be casual.

Gavin’s smile softened, and he stood there, close enough that Dom could see the way blue gave way to green around his pupils. He felt his pulse begin to climb.

“Good,” Gavin said quietly. “Now, did you invite me here to check me out?”

Dom raised a brow. “You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

“You were staring at my arm.”

“Maybe I was looking at your shirt.” Dom felt the back of his neck start to warm.

“My plain gray T-shirt?” Gavin laughed.

Dom caught the front of it between two fingers and pulled Gavin a fraction closer. “I invited you here because I wasn’t ready for the date to end.”

Gavin’s breath hitched and the teasing disappeared from his face. His gaze dropped to Dom’s hand, then slowly lifted to meet his eyes. “So you admit you were checking me out then.”

Dom released him before the urge to close the remaining distance became impossible to ignore and headed for the refrigerator. He could feel Gavin behind him, close enough that awareness prickled between his shoulder blades. Dom had been conscious of him since their first meeting, when Gavin had walked through the house with a clipboard tucked beneath his arm and looked at him like he was something more than the panic and exhaustion. Dom had spent all of spring training telling himself that whatever he’d felt had been the result of too little sleep and too much caffeine. Now he knew exactly what Gavin’s mouth felt like and every nerve in his body seemed impatient for a reminder.

“Sandwiches okay?” he asked as he opened the refrigerator.

“Sure.”

Lucia cooed in her sleep, and Dom glanced over his shoulder to find Gavin had moved to stand beside the portable crib, studying Lucia as she shifted but stayed asleep. He looked comfortable there, as if watching a sleeping baby was a normal way for him to spend an afternoon.

Dom turned back to the fridge. “Good. Because I make excellent sandwiches.”

He pulled out leftover chicken cutlets, fresh mozzarella, prosciutto, and a jar of roasted red peppers, and set everything on the counter. He preheated the oven, placed a loaf of fresh ciabatta bread on the counter, then went through the sliding door to the deck for basil. The herb garden Gavin had planted had thickened in the weeks since he’d moved in. Green leaves crowded the raised bed Gavin had built, and warm air carried the scents of each plant when Dom brushed his fingers through the leaves.

Gavin followed him outside. “I’m impressed you haven’t killed it.”

“I know how to water herbs,” Dom said with a laugh. “I used to garden with my grandmother.”

Dom pinched off several basil leaves and turned. Gavin stood in the doorway with one shoulder braced against the frame. Sunlight caught in his hair and picked out the faint lines beside his eyes when he smiled. He looked like he belonged there. The thought arrived dangerously fast, carrying images Dom had no business seeing in the middle of their first date: Gavin out on the deck having coffee in the morning, Gavin moving around the kitchen without needing to ask for things, Gavin coming through the front door and calling out to find him.

Dom forced himself back to the moment and brushed past Gavin to go back inside. Gavin settled on a stool at the island, and Dom pretended he couldn’t feel Gavin’s eyes watching his every move. He placed the chicken cutlets on a baking sheet, layered each with slices of prosciutto and fresh mozzarella, then slid them into the oven.

“Can I do anything to help?” Gavin asked. “I feel bad just sitting here.”

Dom opened the fridge and pulled out a balsamic reduction he’d made a few days ago. “Can you slice the bread?”

Gavin slid off the stool and grabbed the cutting board from near the sink. “Bread knife?”

Dom jutted his chin toward the knife block next to the stove, his eyes focused on stirring the balsamic glaze in the small saucepan in front of him. He’d expected Gavin to approach on the side where the knives were, but instead of keeping space between them, he stopped directly behind Dom, close enough that his chest brushed Dom’s back.

“There was a whole other route you could have taken.” The glaze bubbled, and Dom turned down the heat.