Free A Little Night Magic by Lucy March Page B

what I was saying, because he shoved the bite in. The first thing I noticed was the warmth, followed by the sweetness of the caramelized pecans, then I chewed and the waffles crunched a bit before giving way to the pastry inside, fluffy and light and wonderful and accepting. I unwittingly made a vaguely sexual sound, then put my hand to my mouth. “Pardon me. Little foodgasm there.”
    He grinned, then dug back into his waffles before looking at me again, the smile replaced by a look of revelation. “Is that why you don’t eat at work anymore? You’re on a diet?”
    I cut off another small bite with the side of my fork. “You noticed that I stopped eating at work?”
    He nodded, then lowered his eyes. “I thought it was because you were too pissed off at me to eat my food.”
    There was a long moment of quiet, and I could feel the comfy confines of our bubble beginning to stretch.
    So I popped it.
    “I love you.”
    He raised his gaze to meet mine. He didn’t look surprised, or freaked out, or anything, really, which meant he already knew. Which was fine.
    “That’s what’s causing all the problems between us,” I went on. “It’s why I keep getting upset. It’s why I decided to go to Europe. It’s why the Stacy Easter thing tweaked me so bad. And tonight, when I was thinking about the brain tumor, I just realized how much it doesn’t matter.”
    Tobias’s face darkened with concern. “You have a brain tumor?”
    I sighed. “No. But for a few moments tonight, I thought … maybe. Maybe it’s a brain tumor, maybe I’m going to die. And when I thought I was dying, I thought of you. I wanted to come right over here and spend what time I had left with you. And you know, whether I’m dying or getting on a plane, whether you love me back or not, I’m still leaving, and I want us to have time to say good-bye. The drama doesn’t matter, and I don’t care about it. I just want to be able to say good-bye, and I want to leave feeling like I did it right.”
    I stepped off the stool and gathered my plate and his, bringing them to the sink. I had just turned on the water when he grabbed my arm.
    “Don’t even think about arguing with me,” I said. “You cooked, I clean. Them’s the rules.”
    He whirled me around so fast, I hardly knew what was happening until the kiss was already underway. At first, his lips were soft and insistent upon mine, but then it caught fire, his tongue making magic against mine as his arms pulled me tight against him. My hands clawed at his back and he lifted me to sit on the counter, my legs open as he pressed against me, clutching at my shirt, balling the fabric in his fist as his other hand cradled the back of my head. It was the kind of kiss that makes your heart pound so hard you’re dizzy when it’s over, and when he finally pulled back from me, it took a moment for me to catch my breath. He put his hands on the counter on either side of me, holding himself up as he rested his forehead on my shoulder. Then he pushed himself back from me and I could tell by the expression on his face that I was probably going to want to hit him in a moment.
    “What is it with you?” I said. “I swear to god, if you tell me you’re married or a secret agent or something, I’m gonna brain you with that frying pan.”
    He raised his eyes to meet mine. “If I told you there was a good reason why this is a bad idea, would you just trust me and not ask why?”
    “You mean, if you said that, but didn’t tell me the good reason?”
    His eyes met mine, and the look in them was pleading. “Can you please trust me? Can we do the dishes and go watch a movie and table this for just a little while longer?”
    I nibbled my lip, and thought about it for a long moment. Could I trust him that whatever his reason for the extreme mixed signals was good and right? Trust him, even though he either couldn’t or didn’t want to tell me, despite the fact that neither of those realities was a good sign?