My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon

His shrug is dismissive, but I know that making food for someone is akin to his love language. I’m the same way with whom I make arrangements for. Especially when it’s someone I care about.

I’m not hungry, too much on my mind to actually eat much, but I won’t turn down his graciousness. Opening the door further, I invite him in.

“Wow, this looks stunning,” he says appraisingly.

“You should’ve seen it a few hours ago. A barren field of no fucks given, but slowly, the blooms of possibility took shape.” Janey sounds like a fortune cookie as she gestures to the flowers, but I’m not saying one word about it after all the work she put in.

“Actually, Janey . . . you should go upstairs and get some rest. You’ve worked all day on this and done an amazing job. It’s my turn to pick up this relay race baton and take us to the finish line.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice, Boss.” She’s got her bag on her shoulder, nearly running for the door before I can blink, but then she turns back. She grabs one of the to-go boxes from Lorenzo with a sweet smile, “Thanks for dinner! Do I get the same sausage dish that Abi’s about to get?”

“Janey!” I shout in mortification, but Lorenzo just chuckles.

“I’m afraid my sausage is a rather exclusive dish and must be rationed out,” he tells her faux-sadly as he cuts his eyes to me.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” Janey sing-songs as she leaves.

She must think that the instant we’re alone, we’re going to go at it like rabid horny bunnies because almost as soon as she’s out of sight, she leans back around the doorframe with a grin. She sighs unhappily. “Damn, I thought I was gonna get some live action inspiration. Party poopers!”

And then she’s gone again. For real this time. I think.

“She’s crazy. Sorry,” I tell Lorenzo. I’m not really sorry. It’s just a habit to apologize when we get weird. Janey and I do that a lot, a gift of working close together for so long.

“No, she’s fine. Just silliness. It’s amusing,” he says with a soft smile.

I glance to the room around me, realizing anew that we’re alone, and a thread of excitement shoots through me. My brain might be all sorts of confused, but my body responds to Lorenzo’s easily.

But along with the fresh opportunity being alone presents, I see all the work I need to do.

“Do you want to eat with me?” I ask slowly.

The fire in his eyes nearly singes me with its intensity. He licks his lips, and I’m ready for him to step closer and kiss me.

“No.”

I’m shocked, not expecting that answer at all.

“You have much work to do, and even now, I can see the creativity flowing through you. Do what you need to. What we have can wait beyond this moment. We have time.” It’s almost like he believes that can be true if he declares it powerfully enough.

He takes one small step to me, giving me time to protest, time to run. And I should, I know I should with every brain cell I’ve got. But they are not in control right now, so I meet him, toe to toe. He cups my jaw, lifting it as he bends down, and light as a butterfly’s kiss, his lips meet mine. Warm honey flows through my veins at his touch. It’s over too soon, and then he whispers, “I will be waiting for you.”

I’m still frozen in stunned lust when I blink enough to realize he’s gone.

Holy Shit! He’s so . . . everything. Everything I want and everything I don’t need.

Curious as the proverbial cat, I open the to-go box to find a nice pile of seasoned chicken and grilled veggies. The delicious aroma works its way through my nose to my stomach, making it growl loudly. Lorenzo made this for me knowing that I would throw myself into work because that’s what he does too. I can’t fault him for that, and as I dig in, I’m so grateful that he’s passionate about his work.

“Oh ma gawd,” I moan as I shovel another bite into my mouth. It tastes amazing, the chicken tender and full of spicy-sweet flavor and the veggies cooked to perfection. Before I know it, I’ve inhaled the whole thing and am staring sadly at my now empty box.

“Definitely have energy to work now,” I tell the flowers in warning. “Let’s do this.”

I turn my music on, not whatever crap Janey was listening to but some old club tunes I’m technically too young to even know but love, and I jam out while I work. I’m not the best dancer, but what I lack in skills, I make up for with enthusiasm.

Looking at our to-do list and feeling the inspiration flow through me, I pick up a piece of floral foam and set it on the table in front of me beside a blend of blooms. “Talk to me. Tell me what you wanna become.”