“Aren’t you going to eat it?” His voice is low and intimate, almost as if Wynn and Rachel and all the movers aren’t bustling around here.

Exhaling as I try to calm my heartbeat, I unwrap the sandwich, open my mouth, and take a bite.

The seconds seem to stretch on forever and at the same time, they seem to be swallowed up by the present when Wynn peers past my shoulder. “What is that? Turkey club? God, I want one.”

“Go right ahead.” Tahoe grabs one and tosses it in the air to Wynn, who catches it readily.

Tahoe’s voice is lower than usual, his drawl noticeable as he looks back at me and takes a step only to lightly touch his finger to my nose as if saying, We’re good, right?

I look up at him. He stares at my face from so close that we could almost be one. He reaches out to rumple my hair, smiles at me the way he usually does, as if I amuse him, and grabs my sandwich and takes a bite of it for himself.

I nearly melt with relief. After many nightmares, tossing and turning, wondering if whatever friendship we had was over, my T-Rex is here, and he’s back.

We all gather around the kitchen counter to eat, and I’m surreptitiously looking at Tahoe’s profile as we all take a little break and chow down.

Suddenly my home does feel like home.

Busy, and lively, and though it’s still 50 percent littered with boxes and wrapped furniture, I’m not scared about being in this place all alone anymore.

He’s the last to leave.

We’re sitting on the living room’s natural wood floor, leaning against the wall that faces my window with the best view, my couches still covered in plastic, and our legs aligned, side by side, when I toe his foot.

“Cast gone, huh?”

Pulling back the sleeve of his white button shirt (he’d discarded his jacket a while ago), he shows me his thick, tanned wrist and turns it over. “Good as new.”

We smile at the same time, but when our lashes lift, our eyes aren’t smiling at all.

And suddenly I have to speak what’s been on my mind all day.

“Would you have liked me to throw your food like you threw my pie?” I stare out the window as I say this. I’m not sure I have the courage to look at him right now.

I glance sideways at him when he remains silent. “Why?” I ask.

A rueful grin appears on his lips, almost apologetic, but something dark lurks in his gaze. “Why do you think? Huh?” He studies me as if dissecting each and every one of my features. “Because I wasn’t hungry for pie.”

The rueful smile remains on his lips before he drops his head and laughs mockingly, stroking his dimple restlessly.

My stomach hurts, that queasy feeling back again in full force.

He sighs and shifts his shoulder against the wall until his torso is leaning in my direction. His dimple is nowhere in sight now. His stare as direct as a laser. And then, his voice is only a whisper that somehow fills up this whole room, this whole apartment, my whole heart.

“I want to kiss you.”

He lifts his fingers to rub my lips with three fingertips.

“I want to kiss you. I look at you, with those curves of yours and that wild hair and those dark eyes and that reluctant little smile, and I want to crush you against me, fill my hands with your hair and drown in your smell. And I want to kiss you.”

His eyes darken.

“I want to take off your lipstick so all you have is my mouth on you. Fuck Davis. Fuck everything but kissing you.”

He exhales roughly, his nostrils flaring as he lowers his fingers.

He lowers his fingers…and my lips tingle and burn and they want to part open and my tongue wants to lick him and I want him so much, I want every bit of what he described and more.

My throat can barely get out any words.

I stare at my feet and watch my toe somehow rub against the length of his shoe. “But then what? You strip my lips of everything but your mouth on mine, and then you’re gone and I have nothing. At least right now we have friendship. And it means more to me than you will ever know, Tahoe. It means so much to me. You mean so much to me.”

He shifts his shoe until all of my toes are resting on it now. “You mean as much to me too.”

“So then.” I scoff at our conversation and wave a hand dismissively. “I’ll give you a peck on New Year’s. If you happen to be around.” I smirk.

He doesn’t smirk.

“I think I’ll take it right now.” He leans over and pecks me.

Just a peck.

On the lips.

His lips pressing on mine for just a nanosecond while my lips instinctively press back. And his lips are warm and strong and HIS. And my world tilts and everything becomes nothing, and nothing but a peck becomes everything.

Everything.

A fiery warmth oozes from the contact of our bodies. He eases back, his gaze piercing the mere few inches between us. His lips curve lightly, and though the smile touches his eyes, I can tell that his hunger was only stoked.

Just like mine…

“You available this Friday? I need a plus one.”

I clear my throat and nod. I’m still so dazed and disbelieving he just did that, but I’m happy to be back on casual terms, happy to pretend his lips weren’t hot and a little possessive on mine. “Done. What do I wear?”

I don’t tell him that Friday is my birthday because I haven’t yet made plans, and a plan with him is better than any, really.

He glances at the mess of boxes thoughtfully then digs his hand into the closest one. “This.”

He grins and extracts the first thing that comes out: an apron.

“Haha.” I shove it back inside.