“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

She gave him a slow smile. “I’d like that.” Her stomach rumbled. “And I guess I’m hungry after all.”

“Fish okay?”

“Perfect.” She leaned close and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Xavier.”

“Don’t thank me yet. The last time I baked fish, Auggie said I overcooked it.”

She laughed and walked away. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

“Bring it, Ferrera.”

Twenty minutes later on the dot, as Xavier put together a nice medley of veggies to go with the fish, a knock came at the door. “It’s open.”

Justine entered, her hair damp and long, wearing shorts and a cropped sweatshirt. She still looked tired but not as downtrodden.

“I have wine, beer, water, and lemonade. Pick your poison. Glasses are to the left of the sink.” He nodded to the cabinet. “Once you have what you want, just sit pretty and compliment me.”

She helped herself to a glass of wine and sat at the kitchen island, watching him. “Nice ass.”

He couldn’t help laughing. “Thanks. By compliment me, I meant about my cooking. Though I’ll take a ‘nice ass’ any day of the week.”

She snickered and drank her wine. “Thanks for letting me vent. I swear, I wanted to punch my boss the minute he mentioned my ‘raise.’ He was so nice about what a great worker I am, only to smash my soul under his Paul Stuart knockoffs.”

“Should I know what those are?”

“They’re nice shoes. My dad owns a few pair. The Giordano dress shoe is a thousand bucks. I doubt Frank can afford the real thing. Although, he does kiss up a lot. Maybe he did buy Paul Stuarts. Who knows?” After a pause, she lifted her head to sniff. “That smells fantastic.”

“Fresh caught salmon in a teriyaki glaze. We’ll also have rice pilaf, a Caesar salad, and some veggies.”

“I’m drooling already.”

He smiled. “How have you been since Sunday...not counting today?”

“I saw the latest horror-comedy at the movies with Katie. It was really funny.” She mentioned one of his favorite actors, and they discussed the guy’s films while he finished putting dinner together.

The conversation felt so effortless. He laughed and bantered, plated their meals and watched her set the table without being asked. They worked well together.

He kept telling himself not to make more out of their relationship, a weird mix of friendship, lust, and companionship he wanted more of. Breaking out of bad patterns—rushing affection—could only help him grow as a person.

But it was difficult, sitting across from a beautiful woman he didn’t want to leave. Stop being a tool. Cherish your time together and don’t be so damned weird about the future. He pledged to do better and made a conscious effort to only focus on making her feel better.

After dinner, he convinced her to sit with him on the couch and watch some TV. She chose a dark show about a vigilante killing people in all manner of ways.