“Are you for real? Like, are you like this all the time or just now while we’re flirting and stuff? After a few months, are you going to get comfortable and relax, and I’ll find out that you really are an inconsiderate jerk who doesn’t do much to help me or do nice things?”

“Breathe.” He sets the covered lasagna aside to cool. “You really overthink, don’t you?”

“No. Well, yes, I do, but not about this. Because it happens a lot. And it’s not because someone is a jerk, actually, but because they get comfortable, and it’s just not important to continue to try to impress the other person anymore.”

“Okay, first of all, yes, there is always going to be some of that. It just happens, Mags. But I’m this person. I’ll bring—or make—dinner, and I’ll happily clean it up. I’m not going to change from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde. That’s not me. That might be people from your past, but it’s not me.”

“Okay.”

I turn to wipe the counter down, but I feel his eyes on my back.

“That’s it?” he says quietly. He’s closer now, his hands gliding over my hips. “Just okay?”

“Yes. What you said makes sense.”

He pulls me back against him, my back to his chest, and his arms wrap around me from behind.

“I’m not anyone else you’ve ever been with before,” he says. “I’m not those morons you’ve been dating, and I’m certainly not Joey Lemon.”

“I know.” I turn and wrap my arms around his neck. “I know that. I do. I guess that, sometimes, I need to be reassured of it. And I know that sounds dramatic or silly—”

“Whatever you need to feel secure and confident is not silly. And maybe only a little bit dramatic.”

I smile and reach up to kiss his chin.

“Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.”

He pulls me closer, cages me in against the countertop, and lowers his head to my cheek. After playfully nipping at my ear, he kisses my jawline.

And when I sigh and press against him, Cam groans and takes my mouth with his, seeming to just sink right into me. My knees fail me, but he catches me, plants the palms of his hands on my ass, and lifts me as if I weigh no more than a child.

“Bedroom,” I whisper against his lips.

“You’re sure?”

“Bedroom, Cameron.”

He chuckles and sets off down the hallway. “Yes, ma’am, whatever you say.”

After he lays me back on the bed, he wastes no time getting us both out of our clothes. I’d tell him to turn out the light, but then I wouldn’t be able to see him. And holy mother of God!

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his breath coming fast.

“Nothing.”

“You look…concerned.”