“It’s a catnip toy. The plastic in the middle has catnip in it.” The minute Felix spots it in Leo’s hand he stops kneading me. He sits up alert when I let him smell it. When I toss it away, he takes off after it. The microwave starts beeping that it’s done. “It smells good. What is it?”
“Porters again. They did not have the roasted red potatoes though tonight. These are mashed baby gold with bacon and cheese. I hope it’s okay.”
I blush at the way my stomach growls again as he hands it to me with a steak knife and fork. “It’s fine. I’d be ecstatic over a grilled cheese right now.” Folding my legs in, I set the cardboard box on the seat in the middle and cut into it. Leo sits down carefully at the other end of the couch. The steak melts in my mouth, perfection. “This is amazing. Thank you.”
“You are welcome. Do you get migraines often?”
“It’s been a while.” These potatoes are making me reconsider my usual roasted red potatoes.
“What brought it on now?”
My neck tightens. I roll my neck. “Stress, Leo. The book launch party thing tomorrow, you blowing hot and cold, the fact that people are going to be asking about my next book. The book that’s sitting there lifeless, and I have no idea what to do about it. Stress. Can you please let me eat in peace?”
His eyes narrow but he doesn’t say whatever he was about to. He gets up and walks out to the balcony. I want to call him back and say I’m sorry. Only I’m just not ready to deal with him, I’m still feeling soft and defenseless. I eat quickly then regret it as my stomach protests. I’m in the kitchen grabbing a bottle of water when Leo comes back in. He’s angry, surprise. When he sees me, he stops, reaches out and pulls me into his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m not blowing hot and cold with any intention. I need a little more time to come to terms with my feelings, yet I can’t stay away from you while I do that.”
Damn him, he has feelings, at least he’s admitting he has them. I sink into him loving the scent of him, the feel of him around me. He picks me up and walks me back to the couch. Carefully, he sits and settles me into his lap. I give in and lay my head on his shoulder. Leo’s hand strokes my back slowly, there’s no desire in his touch, just comfort. “What is the book you’re writing, or rather not writing now about?”