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"I...uh...well...I figured we could have a Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. You know, just the two of us."
His eyebrows shoot up nearly to his hairline "You're cooking? I already made an order–"
"Yes. I canceled it.” When he looks skeptical, I wrinkle my nose. “Stop with that face. I know what I’m doing. Really well, actually. I went to culinary school, remember?"
"I'm sure you're very talented." He crosses his arms looking me over, taking in my high, messy bun and my comfortable cooking clothes. "How much longer till you're done with whatever you're doing?"
I find myself fixated on his body in that tight uniform again, looking over every inch of him and barely hearing his question. I take in Dean from the feet up and ogle his thick, muscled legs.
"Delia, did you hear me?"
"Oh! Um, yes. I'm just making some fall sangria."
He steps up close, putting his hands on either side of me and pressing me against the counter. He dips his head down to kiss my neck.
"Delia," he murmurs, nipping at the sensitive skin under my ear. "Stop ignoring my question."
"I...huh?"
"I asked how much longer you're going to be."
How does he expect me to concentrate when his mouth is doing that? I tilt my head and let him continue. "Well, the sangria doesn't take too long. It's basically done. Why?"
"Just wondering when I will get you all to myself." He pulls back, and there's that mouth twitch again. "You seem surprised to see me in my work gear."
Flustered, I gesture at his entire body with my hands. "I wasn't expecting it, no. You look...nice."
"Nice?" He prods, hands drifting to my hips. At this rate, these apples are never going to get cut.
"Really nice. It's hot, actually. Do you like wearing it?"
He huffs a small laugh. "Not really. I only wear the uniform when I'm doing PR or making appearances, and I hate all of that. I'm more of a hands-on kind of guy."
"Yeah?" Dean’s hands are moving around to my back, and down to cup my ass. “I can see that.”
He leans in and kisses me, his lips brushing against mine."Mmm. Speaking of being hands-on, let me help you."
Now I’m confused, pulling back and blinking. "Help me?"
"Yeah, help. With the cooking."
"Oh, no, it's okay. I'm all set. You can go change and relax."
"Delia," he rumbles. "Stop trying to get out of letting me help."
"I wasn't..."
His next kiss is quick, followed by a squeeze of my ass before he pulls back and starts to undo his button-down uniform shirt, leaving him in only the police t-shirt from earlier. “Let’s try this again with no arguing. What's next on the agenda?"
"Hmm." I glance down at the recipe I've written down. "I guess we’ll prepare the stuffing next so I can just throw it in the oven tomorrow.”
His smile is genuine this time, and I’m shaken by how much it changes his entire face. God, he’s gorgeous. "Then let's do it."
I blink. "Seriously?"
"Yes. Now finish with your apples and let's go."
I can't help it. I laugh, and then Dean kisses me again, and I forget everything.
