I went into work early the next morning, having barely slept. All I could think about was Ali, being so close to her, the scent of her, and the moment we had almost kissed. I had gotten to taste her lips, albeit briefly, and just that hint of being able to touch and taste her had made it so that I could think about nothing else. It confused me but I couldn’t help it—no matter how much I disliked her, how little we got along, I found that I wanted her worse than I had wanted anyone. The thought of it annoyed me—she wasn’t even my type, and most of the time it seemed like we couldn’t get along.

I only spent half the day at work before completely giving up, unable to think about anything other than the moment in the closet with Ali. Every time I thought about it, I felt my cock getting hard, and my mind start to wander to the possibility of other, more intimate moments between Ali and I. It was infinitely distracting, and since I couldn’t focus on my work at all, I decided to leave for the day. I said goodbye to my secretary on the way out of the building and got into my car, making my way back home. I drove past the grocery store and decided to stop and pick up a few things for the night. I was tired of frozen dinners and wanted to make myself a real meal, though I had no idea going in what I was going to get.

I went inside the grocery store, shrugging out of my coat and putting it into a cart as I went inside. It was a giant supermarket, one that I had never been to before, and I looked around to decide which side I wanted to start on.

“Are you confused?” came a voice behind me, and I turned around to see Ali there holding a basket on her arm, looking up at me with her eyebrows raised. “Have you never been to a grocery store before?”

I laughed. “I have, just not this one.”

“What are you here for?” she asked as we started to walk inside. I followed alongside her to the produce section, shrugging.

“I actually have no idea,” I said. She laughed and it was a sweet sound, one I hadn’t heard before. I thought again of how sweet she had tasted, how amazing her lips had felt against mine.

“You don’t know at all? Did you just randomly wander in here?”

“I don’t know what to eat,” I said. “Any ideas?”

“Hm,” she said, looking around, thinking. “Nope,” she said.

I grinned at her. “You’re a chef, yet you don’t have a single idea for a meal?”

“I’m not used to planning meals for one single, lonely man,” she said. I had to laugh at that.

“Just for yourself,” I said.

“I’m not lonely,” she told me, a small smile on her face as she picked up several cloves of garlic and put them into her basket. “What do you normally eat?”

“Uh,” I said, running my hand through my hair. “Lean Cuisine?”

She gave me a distasteful look. “You do not.”

“I do,” I admitted. “I’m not so good at cooking.”

“Why am I not surprised that you’re completely useless?” she asked. I grinned at her.

“I’m good for some things, Ali,” I told her. She blushed when I said the words, the look on her face desperately sexy. I had wished last night that it hadn’t been so dark in the closet—I had wanted to see the desire that I knew was written all over her face.

“Name one,” she said.

“I’m not good at cooking, but I’m pretty good at eating,” I said to her in a soft voice. She blushed even deeper, and this time she chewed on her full bottom lip.

“I could—I could make you something,” she offered. I looked at her in surprised, and a shy look passed over her face. “I just mean—it’s what I do. And I was going to cook tonight anyway. I’m trying a new recipe.”

“I’d love to,” I said to her quickly. The idea of sitting down with her for a meal, of having a real conversation, was incredibly tempting.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Do you like French toast?”

“You’re cooking French toast for dinner?”

She nodded. “Fridays are breakfast for dinner. Always.”

“I love French toast,” I said to her. “Is that the kind of thing you serve at your restaurant?”

She nodded as we made our way into the bread aisle and she put a loaf in her basket.

“We’re a country diner,” she told me. “Which sounds tacky, I know, but—”

“It doesn’t,” I said. “Everything else around here is so cosmopolitan and upscale. I’d rather go to a diner any day.”

“Really?” she asked, looking at me in surprise. “I would have thought someone like you would never step foot in a little hole-in-the-wall.”

“I’d imagine you don’t know very many people like me, Ali,” I said to her. “Despite what you think.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she said. We had stopped in the aisle and her eyes were on mine. They displayed amusement and ease, and she was even more beautiful then than she was when she was angry. I reached up to touch her, push her long hair out of her face, but she turned away from me quickly and started walking again.

“So why did you decide to come here and open a diner?” I asked her.

“It’s what I’m good at. I grew up working in my family’s diner back home.”

“Where are you from?”

“Louisiana,” she said. “New Orleans.”

“That explains that little accent when you get mad,” I said. I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it before.

“My mother and father are Cajun,” she admitted. “My accent used to be thicker.”

“I like it,” I said to her. “What happened to it?”

“Made me sound like an idiot,” she said.

“I think it makes you sound like you could kick my ass,” I told her.

She laughed. “Do I sound tough?”

“You do,” I said. “You’re a little scary when you’re mad.”

“Good,” she said, smiling over at me as we walked. “Maybe that will keep you from being so annoying.”

“Oh, don’t count on it,” I said. “Like I said, I like the accent.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a pleased look on her face. We finished shopping and got in line to check out. Every time I was close to her, I was tempted to touch her, just to brush against her waist or breathe her in. I did my best to stay away as we left the store and she started to walk in the direction of the apartments.

“Hey, where are you going?” I asked her.

“Home,” she said, gesturing forward. I shook my head.

“I’m parked right there,” I said. She chuckled.

“It’s like a block. You drove here?”

“Shut up, I was on the way home from work,” I said to her, smirking. “Are you coming or not?”

She looked down the street, then back at me. Then she started toward my car. We both got in and I turned the heat on, blasting it, waiting for the car to warm up.

“What are you doing?” she asked when I didn’t move.

“I’m waiting until the car’s warm.”

“It’s like a three-second drive,” she said in an exasperated voice.

“And I want it to be comfortable for you,” I said with a wink. She sighed, but there was a charmed smile on her face on the way back to the apartment. I carried the bags inside and onto the elevator, where we stood close together. I was half-hoping that it would get stuck again, that we could stretch out the time in such a close area for as long as possible. Our eyes were locked together as we rode up together, and when the elevator opened, I only looked away because I heard my sister’s voice. The door to my apartment was open and she was standing there on the phone. When she saw me, she waved, smiling brightly. I felt Ali tense beside me and looked over at her.

“Ali, this is—”

“I think I’m just going to order something in and go to bed early,” she said, cutting me off. I raised my eyebrows, studying her face, which had grown cold and steely. I looked at her in confusion.

“What—” I began to ask her what was going on, but she gave me an icy look and took the bags from my arms.

“Ali—”

I was cut off by the door slamming when she disappeared inside. I looked at my sister, who looked back with a question on her face, having hung up the phone.

“What did you do to her?” Trixie asked. I ran my hand through my hair.

“I have no idea,” I said, completely dumbfounded, shaking my head and wondering what I had possibly done as I went into my apartment and shut the door.