Chapter 120: Playful teasing

Lisa's POV

"We should probably take care of the kitchen," I say begrudgingly, still cocooned in Leo's arms, the sheets bunched up around us.

He groans and buries his head in my neck. "Do we have to?"

"Unless you want to wake up to crusty plates and wax drippings all over the floor, yes."

"Worth it" he mumbles against my skin, but he’s smiling. I can feel it.

“Come on.” I press a kiss to his shoulder. "I'm going. I'll lend a hand. We'll make it fast."

“Nothing about tonight’s been quick,” he responds, his tone thick with implication, and I feel blush rising to my cheeks despite what we’ve just done.

“Leo!”

He finally lets me go laughing, “Okay, okay. Let's be responsible adults.”

We get dressed lazily—he’s just in sweatpants, I’ve taken one of his t-shirts that falls about mid-thigh. The ease of it, the domesticity of it, makes my heart too big for my chest.

Downstairs, the dining room looks exactly the way we left it—candles burned down to nubs, wine glasses with dark dregs clinging to the bottom, plates abandoned mid-course. The food’s cold now, but anyway, it all looks beautiful in the dim light, like proof of something magical.

“It was really a perfect dinner,” I say softly, stacking plates. “Even if we didn’t finish it.”

Leo comes up behind me and wraps me in his arms, resting his chin over my shoulder. "We got distracted."

“Very distracted,” I agree, leaning back into him.

He presses a kiss to my neck and then lets me go with obvious reluctance. “Come on. The sooner we finish cleaning, the sooner we can go back to sleep.”

We work in unison, establishing a comfortable cadence. I wash the plates as he fills the dishwasher. The quiet between us is easy, broken only by the clatter of dishes and an occasional accidental touch when we reach for the same item.

“You know,” Leo says, popping up behind me as I scrub a pan, “you really look good in my shirt.”

I look down at the odd fabric. “It’s just a t-shirt.”

“This is my t-shirt. On you. Big difference.” His hands rest on my hips and I can feel his smile against my ear. “Makes me think possessive thoughts.”

“Possessive thoughts?” I echo, trying to focus on the pan as her closeness sends my heart racing.

“Mmhmm.” His hands come around to my stomach as he pulls me back into him. “Like I love the way you wear my clothes. How perfect you look in my kitchen. How you’re mine.”

The pan shifts under my soapy hands. “Leo, I’m trying to clean.”

“I know.” But his lips are at the nape of my neck now, leaving soft kisses along the bend. “Am I distracting you?”

“Yes,” I breathe as I tip my head to give him better access against my will.

"Good." His hands begin to roam, tracing my sides and ribs, as his thumbs graze beneath my breasts over the thin fabric.

“This is cleaning in reverse,” I say with a hint of protest, but I’m already melting into him, the pan left to soak in the sink.

“We can do two things at once,” he says softly, and I feel him smile against my skin.

I turn in his hold, my hands still wet, and caught his gaze like he was so satisfied with himself.

“You’re trouble.”

“You love it.”

“I love you,” I say, correcting him, I raise my hand and cup his face, not minding if my wet hand is making him wet.

His face immediately softens, and all the playfulness turns to something more tender. "I love you too. So much it scares me sometimes.”

“Scares you?”

He begins to cover my hands with his. "I didn't think I could ever feel this way about anyone. This complete. This certain." His eyes search mine as he hesitates. "You've changed everything, Lisa."

I am choked up. "You've changed everything for me, too."

We look at each other for a moment, standing there in the presence of our night’s well-worn evidence.

Then his phone rings. The sound is startling in the tranquil closeness, tearing into the moment like a blade. It’s in the living room where he must have dropped it a while ago.

Leo’s jaw tightens a bit, but he doesn’t move. The phone continues ringing, persistent, compelling.

"Aren't you going to get that?" I say as I pull back a bit.

"No," he says with a simple shake of his head, his hands clasping even tighter around my waist.

"Leo, it could be important—"

"I don't care." His amber eyes glowed with intensity and they were locked on me. "Right now, you're all that matters."

The phone keeps screaming for attention, but he doesn't even look in its direction. It just keeps gazing at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.

Legitimate: "What if it's work? Or an emergency?"

He shakes his head as he pulls me closer, all the air displaced between our bodies is gone. "They'll leave a message if it's really urgent. But right now, in this moment?’ His hand rises to my face, his thumb caressing my cheekbone. "You matter more. This is more important."

Something in my chest breaks open—not with pain but rather like a door opening wide and light rushing in. How many times in my life have I been put on hold, pushed aside, made to feel like there's something more important than me?

How many times have I seen someone choose a phone call or a work conversation or maybe even an emergency over just being with me? And here is Leo, letting his phone ring and ring, and ring without answering, as he looks at me as if there is no one else.

"You mean that" I whisper, not quite a question.

“I mean that.” He half kneels down and presses his forehead to mine. “I’m sick of living a life where work is the most important thing, and where everything else is just second to that.

You matter, Lisa. Better than any phone call, any meeting, anything.”

He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes. “You’re my priority. Always.”

He kisses me tenderly, sweetly as if sealing a promise. When he pulls back, he uses his thumb to wipe away the tear that ran down my cheek.

“You just — you just make me feel so special. They feel so seen."

“You are special. You’re seen.” His hands cup my face, cradling me like I’m something valuable. "And I’m going to spend every day making sure you know that."

The phone has finally stopped ringing, and we’re enveloped once again in silence like a soft cover. Leo doesn't even look over to where it is.

That mischievous glint reappears in his eyes, “Now. Where were we before we were interrupted?”

“I think I was dusting and you were distracting me.”

I say, “Oh, yes.” He grins. “I'm calling you back,” he says, obviously hinting at himself “I think I was doing a good job of it.”

“Too good,” I say with a smile, but that’s okay. “Are you kidding. Let's actually finish this so we can relax.”

“Fine,” he sighs with mock drama. “But I’m taking my payment in kisses.”

"Deal."

Infused with sunny suspense, we get back to cleaning – but it’s different now, lighter, friskier. Leo hijacks kisses here, there and everywhere off work, pulling me close whenever I walk past him, making me laugh with feigned complaints about the line of duty. I fight back with a smack of suds in his face, and the ensuing water fight is brief but intense, and ends up with us both soaked and chuckling.

“You’re a terrible cleaner,” I say, as I wring out a dishcloth.

“I can clean,” he says in rebuttal. “I’m also really good at coming up with reasons to touch you.”

“Well, those two things are mutually exclusive in this case.”

“Are they though?” He pulls me against him again and I can feel his smile against my temple. “I don’t know, I’m touching you and the kitchen is getting cleaner. Looks like we got a win-win to me.”

I shake my head and smile. “You’re impossible to.”

“You’re impossibly in love with me.” he corrects, kissing me before I can respond.

Eventually—at long last—the kitchen is clean. Dishes washed and put away, counters cleaned, candles discarded, everything back in its place. We both stop at the center of the room and look at what we’ve done.

"We did it," I say.

“We did. And it just took twice as long as it needed to, that’s all.”

“You have only yourself to blame.”

“Complete worth it,” he said in response, pulling me again to his chest, arms encircling me from behind. I press myself against him, feeling the warmth of his body, the sound of his heartbeat against my back. His chin is on top of my head and we rock a little, to a rhythm that we alone can feel.

"Thank you," I say softly.

"For what?"

"For the night. For the dinner, the candles and everything. For making me feel..." I pause, trying to find the right word. "Cared For," he suggests.

His arms tense. "You are prized. Day by day, moment by a moment. Never question that."

"I am not," I say truthfully. "Not with you."

We linger in the quiet kitchen again, holding one another, after so long, decked out with the remnants of our evening—working clean counters we have labored over together, empty wine glasses we have toásted us, and the fragrance of the meal he has so painstakingly prepared.

He stands over me for just a few seconds and it's enough time for the look on his face to steal my breath away. Love, desire, tenderness, possession, are all expressed very clearly in his eyes.

"What?" I murmur.

"Just thinking how lucky I am," he says. "That you chose me. That I get to have this with you."

"I'm the one who’s lucky," I say, my fingers tracing up the side of his cheekbones, along the line of his jaw.

"It's even now, shall we say." He leans down, lips just above mine, hovering. “We’re both lucky. We found each other.”

“We found each other,” I whisper picking him up and pulling him down for a kiss.

And as he leans his weight on me and our bodies mold into that familiar perfect shape and the world closes in around just this moment, us, and the love we have built, I think of that phone call. How he let it ring. How he picked me.

And I have that feeling again—that sense of being utterly treasured, of having been made the center of someone’s world, of being loved for precisely the person I am.

It's all I never realized I was missing.

Something I will never take for granted.

Everything I want for the rest of my life.