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The more of them she met and got to know, the more she would be able to see herself as one of them, of us.
“Yep. We are having ravioli tonight, by the way. Judah decided,” she said, smile sweet as she dropped down next to me.
“He’s got good taste,” I said, reaching out to pull her closer.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she objected, trying to pull away.
“You won’t,” I assured her. She didn’t have a second objection in her, but she was careful to angle her hips away from mine as she leaned over to press her head into my good shoulder.
“It feels good to be home,” she said, making my heart fucking melt.
“Yeah, it does,” I agreed, leaning down to press a kiss to her head.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Claire - 1 week
Aurelio was a horrible patient.
I was actually surprised just how stubborn he was, how much he fought being instructed to stay on the couch and rest.
I figured maybe it was due to the fact that, in the past, there’d never been anyone around in the house to take care of everything if he was sick or hurt. So if he didn’t rally to get up and get food, he didn’t eat. If he didn’t make himself go move the laundry along, he’d have nothing to wear.
I mean, I was sure his family dropped in on him when he was unwell, but that was different than having someone right there all the time, ready to grab anything you might need.
“Angel, I can get my own coffee,” Aurelio insisted as I tried to steer him back toward the couch.
“Why strain yourself if I can do it, though?” I reasoned.
“Lettie said it was good for me to move around.”
“Ah, if I recall correctly—and I do, by the way—,” I said, watching his lips twitch, “Lettie said that you can take yourself to the bathroom and to shower every other day. She didn’t actually say it was good for you to get up and get coffee.”
“It was implied,” he insisted.
“It absolutely wasn’t,” I shot back, watching the way his smile spread. “What?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.
“I like this side of you,” he said. And, damn him, he could always make me melt when I was trying to be stern.
“The nagging part of me, you mean?”
“Is it nagging?” he asked, head tipping to the side. “Or is it you trying to make me do what is best for me?”
“I think a lot of men think those two things are the same thing.”
“Luckily, I’m not an asshole like that,” he said, moving closer toward me, and I knew that look in his eyes too well.
“Oh, no, sir,” I said, pressing a hand into his chest. “If you’re not supposed to be getting coffee, you definitely aren’t supposed to be trying that.”
“Trying what?” he asked, smirking.
“Oh, you know what,” I said, moving around the island because, despite my objections, I’d been aching for him for days.
Each night after I put Judah to bed, I found myself going back downstairs and curling up next to him on the couch, waking up both sexually frustrated and aching from the awkward, tight sleeping position.
Being close to him when he had that look in his eyes was not a good idea. Because I didn’t trust myself to turn him down, even if I knew it was for his own good.
“Maybe I just—“ he started, but was cut off by the sound of the doorbell.
