“What’s that Italian place you love? Why don’t you get some there?”

He wasn’t going to be talked out of this. “No. This is his present.”

“Thorne—”

“Just send me the damn recipe.”

“Okay. Let me know how it turns out.” She could barely get the words out through her giggles.

Despite his sister’s reaction and what he’d told Riley about his cooking skills, Thorne had been confident that if he studied hard enough, he could make anything. He’d watched tutorials, read the recipe over and over again, and googled something about almost every step.

It was a disaster. What the hell was the deal with custard anyway? How did anyone make it without getting little bits of cooked egg in it or having it scorch on the bottom of the pan or…any of the other nasty things that he’d done to it? His apartment smelled like burned sugar, and he’d been forced to open some windows despite the fact that it was freezing out.

Finally, he’d given up and made a cheaters’ version, using instant pudding. At the last second, on Christmas Eve afternoon, he’d begged Salvadora at Molto Bella to sell him a pan of her tiramisu. After he showed Riley his pitiful effort, they could eat the good stuff.

Now Riley would be there any minute. Thorne paced his apartment. He fucking hated being so nervous. Had he done the right thing by not buying him an expensive gift? If he’d thought Riley would have accepted them, he would have showered him with an endless line of presents. Relationships were fucking hard.

The intercom buzzed, making him jump. “Mr. Dashwood is here.”

“Thank you. Send him up.”

Thorne took a long, slow breath and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. Don’t screw this up. He had the sense this was a make-or-break moment. Either he and Riley moved forward or they didn’t.

Knock! Knock! Riley’s two sharp raps. Thorne walked to the door. Stay calm.

He opened the door and stared. Riley was holding a large paper bag, and he had a tote slung over his shoulder, but Thorne barely spared a second to wonder what he’d brought with him, because Riley was wearing a battered leather jacket and a shirt under it that clung to his body. His jeans were Thorne’s favorite ones, worn and so tight they hugged right up against Riley’s balls.

He swept his gaze back up Riley’s body and swallowed. “You look amazing.”

Riley grinned. “Thanks, I was hoping this wasn’t a dress-up affair.”

“No dressing up necessary.” No clothes necessary at all. Thorne almost said those words out loud but stopped himself. “Come in,” he said, stepping back.

Riley walked past him and set the paper bag on the kitchen counter. “I brought some leftovers from Susan’s since you never have food.”