Tattooed Sweetheart

“Shit,” Malkolm cursed and started shaking his hand, looking at the burn with a scowl.

“You okay?” I called out, but when he started cursing about boiling water, I couldn't help but chuckle.

“I’m fine, just screwing dinner up.”

The look he threw over his shoulder at me said he felt like he was failing. And my heart filled with love for him all over again. “I know you said you wanted to cook me dinner all on your own, but… need some help?”

“No.” He shook his head and looked back at the stove. “No, you just sit there and let me do this. I want to do this for you.”

I smiled at that and kept my mouth shut. Even if what he was cooking was burned, I’d still eat it and love it.

He grumbled, “This needs to be just right for my girl,” which of course had a very feminine sigh of love and appreciation leaving me.

The scents that came from the kitchen were… unique, that was for sure. I wasn't even sure what he was preparing, because he wanted it to be a surprise. And after another twenty minutes, he finally said dinner was done and for me to come into the kitchen.

“Okay, I think it’s good to go.” He swore again. “I think. I hope.”

I suppressed my smile as I made my way into the kitchen and eyed the little table pressed against the wall. The dishes were mismatched, the glasses too. He’d taken a paper towel and ripped it in two for our napkins, and all of that had me smiling so big.

“Malkolm… it looks perfect.” And I meant that. God, I meant that.

He held the chair out for me, and before sitting down, I rose on my toes to give him a kiss. He let out a growl that had my toes curling, but I pulled away so as not to get sidetracked.

Over the last couple of months, he opened up to me about his life, why he moved out to Sweetheart, and how he started from scratch. I could see why people had been hesitant of him, what with his size and bulk, the tattoos that covered his arms and chest. But he was my gentle giant, and I knew if people just got to know him, they’d fall in love with him just like I had.

Malkolm clearly wasn’t used to cooking for himself, let alone someone else, but the fact that he’d gone to so much trouble for me, to make this as special as he could, warmed my heart.

“So, I wasn’t sure what to make, so I made a little bit of everything.” He started pointing to dishes. “I know your favorite is Italian, so I stuck with that route.”

I smiled as he pointed out the homemade meatballs—emphasis on the homemade—the penne pasta, marinara sauce covering both of those in a thick, delicious-smelling blanket. There was a large dinner salad, oil-and-vinegar dressing—because he remembered that's what I preferred—then the garlic bread, which looked a little crispy and black around the edges, but I’d never seen a better meal in my life.

And it was all because the man I loved made it for me.

“It all looks incredible, Malkolm. Thank you. I love it all.”

He took the seat across from me, and I started helping myself. I was very aware he didn’t eat or serve himself and instead had his focus on me, as if he’d wait until he knew how much I enjoyed what he prepared.

And so I just dug in. Flavor exploded on my tongue, and I felt my eyes widen, not because I was surprised he could actually cook, but because it was absolutely delicious.

“Wonderful,” I said after I swallowed and took a drink of the wine he poured me before he sat down.

“Yeah? I didn’t screw it up too badly?”

I smiled and shook my head. “No way. Try it for yourself and you’ll see I’m not lying.” And as I watched him do just that, I was struck by how normal this was and how much I loved this domestic side of the relationship. I wanted more of it. I wanted it for the rest of my life.

I watched as he ate, finding it so erotic the way his jaw worked, how his throat moved when he swallowed. Malkolm even made eating dinner look masculine and sexy.

We ate for the next twenty minutes, the conversation light as we talked about our days. I asked him about Broken Hearts and any unique tattoos he’d given recently. He asked me about any new coffee concoctions Tatum and I were creating for Just One More Cup.

When I couldn't eat another bite, I pushed my plate aside, leaned forward, and looked at the scruff that covered Malkolm’s cheeks and chin. He had my heart beating a little harder at how sexy he was, and I felt a secret smile form on my lips.