“What are you doing?” he asks, brow arching as he takes in the long distance from us to the building.
“We could use a walk.” I adjust the ball cap and unbuckle my seat belt.
“A walk?” His voice is lighter now, that playful edge creeping back in. “This isn’t because you’re afraid to park close and scratch the car or something?”
Flashing him a smile, I grab my purse and push the door open. “Of course not.”
He meets me in front of the car, and the lights flash when I hit the lock button on the fob.
“Okay, remember”—he grabs the bill of my cap and fits it down snug on my head—“we’re on a top-secret mission for pancakes.”
Under the parking lot lights, his eyes are shadowed, and with the bomber jacket zipped up, I almost can’t tell it’s him. As long as no one gets too close, his disguise should work.
He grabs my hand, and we set off across the parking lot. People barely glance our way, and when they do, their gazes don’t rest on us for long. Dex mostly keeps his head down, letting me lead the way through the store.
“Blueberry or chocolate chip?” I ask after I’ve put all the other ingredients into our basket.
He contemplates for a moment, then flashes me a quick smile from under his hat. “Both.”
I grab a carton of fresh blueberries and a bag of chocolate chips, then pick up a few more quick ingredients for breakfast in the morning.
Only after I’ve put oat milk into my basket do I realize I’m expecting to stay the night with him, and it makes my stomach twist uncomfortably. What if he asks me to leave?
I’m staring down at the basket, lost in my anxious thoughts, when an arm loops around my shoulders. When I look up, Dex is gazing down at me, a quirk to his lips.
“Need anything else?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Sweet. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
We go through the self-checkout. I don’t have my reusable bags with me, obviously, so Dex slips everything into a couple paper sacks while I finish scanning. He’s finding a spot for the carton of blueberries when I pull my wallet out and quickly swipe my card. After putting the wallet away, I look over to find him staring at me, a furrow between his brows.
“What?” I ask, glancing around as if something’s wrong.
“I could’ve paid for that,” he says.
The tightening of my chest loosens. “You bought dinner at Luxe. I’ll treat you tonight.”
There’s still a weird look on his face, but it softens when I smile at him. He picks up the bags, one in each hand, and I get a thrill when his blue eyes catch mine.
“Whatever you say, Little Monster.”
BACK AT HIS HOUSE, I get to work whipping up batter for the pancakes. Dex sits at the island in the kitchen, arms crossed on the marble countertop, watching me. It feels weird at first, having an audience while I cook, but I settle into it after a short time, and his lighthearted conversation makes it more comfortable.
I’m flipping a chocolate chip pancake in the skillet when Dex suddenly sits up straight, and I glance over to find his brows scrunched in concern.
“Is Margot gonna be okay?” he asks.
The pancake sizzles, putting off sweet-smelling steam. “What do you mean?”
“You’re with me tonight. Will she be okay alone?”
One thought hits me hard: He’s expecting me to stay the night.
A big smile stretches across my face, and it just makes his face scrunch further.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing. She’ll be fine for one night. She’s got plenty of food and water, and I think she secretly likes having the bed to herself.”
His shoulders relax, and I turn back to the pancakes before he can see how happy his question made me. The chocolate chip pancake is done, so I sweep it out of the pan and onto a plate that’s already holding three others: one more chocolate chip and two blueberry. I put a pad of butter on each, then turn to place the plate in front of Dex. My plate is already ready, so I carry it to the island and take a seat next to him.
By the time I sit down, he’s halfway through a chocolate chip pancake.
I drizzle a small amount of maple syrup over mine, then start in on a blueberry pancake. Somehow, even with Dex watching me the whole time, I was able to pull these off. They’re fluffy and soft and perfectly golden on the outside.
Beside me, Dex chuckles to himself, and I turn to him with a quizzical brow.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says, which I find slightly infuriating. Lifting his gaze to mine, he gives me a little smirk. “Tell me, Nora Miller”—he stabs another bite of pancake while he speaks—“how many other men have you cooked pancakes for?”
“Seriously?” I’m trying not to let my lips pull into a smile, but they really want to.
“Seriously.” Slipping the bite into his mouth, he chews intently, eyes still focused on me.
