I’d had more than spaghetti from Nick, it had all been good, so I knew without a doubt he made great cinnamon French toast.

I also knew I wanted to taste it.

But what I knew most of all was that this was all I had left to hold on to in order to keep sane, smart and stay safe.

Leaving.

We could text. We could phone. We could make plans. I could eat with him. I could fuck him. We could chat.

But I was not spending the night.

“Maybe some other time,” I told him.

He looked at me, mouth twitching, head slightly shaking, knowing there would be no other time.

“A fuckin’ nut,” he muttered again, not sounding broken up about it and still looking amused.

I liked seeing him amused even if I wished he sounded broken up about me not spending the (whole) night.

Before I could come to terms with those contradictory emotions, he bent in, brushed his mouth to mine, moved back an inch and said, still with mouth twitching, “Seven tonight, babe. Pork chops.”

It was then I realized why he wasn’t broken up and why he was amused.

Because he knew in just fifteen and a half hours, I’d be back.

Okay, maybe I was a nut.

I imagined Nick made superb pork chops.

But I was stuck on cinnamon French toast.

“Perhaps we can have breakfast for dinner,” I suggested.

His body started shaking as his mouth stopped twitching and began smiling. “Got a rule about my French toast. That bein’ you gotta earn it by makin’ me come in the morning.”

I wondered how many women had earned that.

Just as quickly as I wondered that, for peace of mind I stopped wondering.

“Hmm…” I murmured.

His smile got bigger as his laughter became audible.

And his eyes were dancing in the parking lot lights when he whispered, “A fuckin’ nut.”

I liked that. It was a sweet tease, saying he found me amusing which meant a lot to me.

Too much.

So much it hurt when he again moved in, touched his mouth to mine, but this time, when he moved back, he let me go.

“Drive safe home,” he ordered.

I nodded and made myself move immediately to get in my car.

And it hurt again when I watched through my rearview mirror as he did as he always did, jogged right up to his place instead of standing in the parking lot watching me drive away.

Maybe, I told myself, when I came back the night after he watched me drive away, I’d stay.

Maybe.

Then again, I figured he jogged right up to his place because he didn’t want me to see him watching me drive away.