“I think you’re going to feed me cake while I lay on your couch.”

“What sort of fantasy land are you living in, Ms. Langley?”

“One where you also give me a foot massage, Mr. McGowan.”

I hold his stare for a second longer before I spin around dramatically. I’m very good at making myself feel at home, so I flop onto the couch I’ve had fantasies about. It’s so soft. Like a cloud. I’m moving in.

“It’s so warm.” I bury myself under the blanket I ordered last week.

“Listen,” Asher shouts from the kitchen. “You can’t steal my blanket and my cake.”

“Of course I can. Do you know who I am?”

“Literally the most annoying person on the planet.”

“Please shower me with more compliments. Preferably about my boobs. I know how you feel about the right one, but the left one feels very underappreciated.”

He ignores that comment. “Do you want a beer?”

“No, I don’t like Stella.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry we can’t all be as sophisticated as you.”

I pretend I don’t hear him mocking me under his breath and I grab the remote off the coffee table. He’s watching Live! With Kelly and Ryan. I’ve decided to stop being surprised by the things he likes.

“Hey! They were just about to do the trivia question.”

“I didn’t realize how seriously you take your morning talk shows.”

He glares at me as he hands me a glass of wine.

“Look at you trying to wine and dine me. Who knew you could be romantic?”

“You have some very low standards for romance if you think this is it.”

“C’mon, Ash.” I sit up as he sits down, the box of cake nestled on his lap. “Cozied up on the couch. Snuggled under blankets. Snow falling outside. Christmas movies. Cake. We’re living a Lifetime special.”

He takes a bite of cake. “When do I get accused of murdering you? Because I won’t even try to deny it. I’ll walk into the courtroom and say you’re welcome.”

“You would be very lonely without me.”

“I would definitely have to buy less Tylenol.”

I roll my eyes and open my mouth.

“Don’t beg, Olivia, it’s unbecoming.”

My lips barely fall into a pout before he shoves his fork into my mouth.

“Oh my God.” I might start crying. “That’s so good.”

“It was one of my finer creations.”

I take a sip of wine. I’m definitely going to cry.

“I don’t suppose this is a four dollar Trader Joe’s special?”

“I think it was a two hundred dollar limited edition.”

I’m trying very hard not to spit red wine all over his couch. “Why did you open a two hundred dollar bottle of wine?”

“Because you said you didn’t like beer?”