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Marci laughs, and it’s such a joyful sound, I want to wrap her in my arms and take her home.
“I’m excited for you,” I say.
“Yeah?” She chops vegetables. “But how excited are you to grate cheese?”
“Bring it on. But first…” I dip out into the diner and return with the same picnic basket we took to the recent event. I bring out a bottle of sparkling wine.
“What’s that for?” Marci asks, as she places the cheese on the counter.
“To celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?”
“You being my wife,” I say.
Marci holds her breath.
Too far.
“And the fact that you’re cooking in your kitchen in the Heartstopper. This is right, Marci. This is what you want, right?”
She exhales, and her trepidation dissolves.
“Yeah. It’s what I want. Still nervous, though. I don’t want to mess this up. And I want to make stuff that’s easy to serve. Mac and cheese, quesadillas, sliders, and jalapeno poppers stuffed with barbecued meat. My dad had this old smoker he used to use once in a while, and I want to do that again. But I need the?—”
“Don’t say money. It’s covered, remember?”
Marci squirms. “I—Yeah.”
“Angel. We have a deal.”
“You’re right. I’m not used to people helping me. Especially not people who hate me.”
I pour wine into two mugs—Marci doesn’t serve alcohol at the diner—and we toast over the cheese and the grater and the tension between us.
“I never hated you,” I say. “I liked fucking with you. You make it easy and fun.”
“Well, I can’t say the same for you.” She takes a sip of her wine and presses those lips together. “I hated you with a fiery passion. Such a show-off. Always teasing me. Always in the right. Always more popular. I guess jealousy blinds you.”
“What were you jealous of, Angel?”
Marci takes another sip of wine and doesn’t answer.
“Were you jealous of me? Or were you jealous of the women who wanted me?”
She sets down her glass. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Spill it,” I reply.
“You’d have to make me.”
I get off my seat and stalk toward her like a predator. I take her by the hips, pressing her backward until her ass bumps into the steel counter. I fist that ponytail and tip her head backward, then bring my lips to her throat.
“Tell me,” I say, “or I’m going to commit a health code violation in your kitchen. Were you jealous of them?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
I suck her bottom lip. “You never had to be.” I release her and step back. “I spent a long time fantasizing about you.”
