“To you, maybe. To me? Not so much. I love making numbers make sense. Math is fun!”
I made a gagging noise just to hear him laugh some more. When I’d learned he was an accountant by day, and only a stealth baker for certain special occasions, I’d been shocked. I’d always pictured accountants as stodgy and boring. Monroe was anything but.
He had a wicked sense of humor, and he loved to make people laugh. Charming as hell, open, honest, and thoughtful. He’d proved it to me time and again. Like when he brought me food every time I had a late night or a big order. Or when he surprised me with a picnic at Elise’s pond when I told him how much I loved it there.
When he introduced me to his parents as his boyfriend after only a week of dating, I’d been surprised. I’d thought he was moving too fast. But he’d just shrugged and smiled, stating that’s who I was and where he wanted things to go, but that he was open to negotiation if I needed that. He even told me about his relationship with Amanda and why it had ended, even though they’d been talking about marriage at one point.
I’d never had a problem with him talking to her at the wedding, even though we’d been mid-kiss when we’d been interrupted. But I couldn’t deny that tiny bit of relief when Monroe had explained why she wanted to see him. It seemed she’d met someone new, it was serious, and they were engaged. She wanted to be the one to tell him instead of him hearing it through the town gossip grapevine. She didn’t want Monroe to be hurt, and she hoped he could be happy for her.
He was. He even pointed her in my direction for the floral arrangements.
“West?”
I jerked back to the present, not realizing I’d wandered, and the squeak I let out made him laugh. I used to be self-conscious about the strange sounds I made, but with Monroe, I knew I never had to censor myself.
“I wasn’t listening,” I admitted sheepishly.
“I know.” His tone was full of warmth and affection. “Because I was saying that my parents invited us to dinner this weekend, on account of how my dad wants to play you in chess again.”
I groaned, drawing it out, and Monroe positively cackled.
“It’s not funny. He doesn’t want to ‘play’ me. He wants to beat my ass and gloat about it.”
“Yep, he sure does,” Monroe said, laughter still in his voice. “But how do you expect to get better if you don’t practice?”
“Shut up,” I muttered, but I was smiling.
“You love me,” he teased.
“That’s what you say.”
“That’s what I know.”
I didn’t respond to that. I never did. This exchange had been happening more frequently over the past couple of weeks, and I deflected every chance I got. Because it was too soon for that sort of talk. We’d been together for only three months. No way it could be love yet.
But deep down, late at night on the few occasions I was in bed by myself, I let myself think about it. Let myself really explore my feelings. I’d never been in love before. Not real love. Not true love. But this? This thing I had with Monroe? The warm feelings and deep desire to be with him. The need to share everything with him, the good and the bad. To get his opinion on everything in my life, from what shirt I should wear to if he thought I was doing good enough business to hire another person. And most of all that feeling that I had only half my heart unless we were together. All those things definitely pointed to real love.
If I let it get that far. And really, why wouldn’t I?
“So dinner with my parents?”
“You bet,” I murmured, my heart swelling. “What time?”
* * * *
Sunday mornings were my favorite. No matter what else was going on in our lives, no matter where we needed to be or if we’d spent the night before together or not, Sunday mornings were our standing date. Sometimes I had to show up at his house, or he had to come to mine, but most of the time, we woke up together. Coffee and pancakes for breakfast. Then we spent a few lazy hours together just being in each other’s presence.
This Sunday was no different.
Monroe cooked, because he always cooked, which meant I did the dishes. I didn’t mind. I liked the methodical act of washing the griddle and bowls, our cups and plates, and wiping down the counters where he inevitably spilled batter. I made quick work of my task, and Monroe was dogging my every footstep. I playfully bumped him out of the way, but he grabbed me from behind, pulling me in close so that his hips pressed into my ass. He was already half-hard, and when he gently cupped my crotch, I chubbed up, too.