An hour later, we sat at my kitchen table, her in my t-shirt and me in a pair of boxer briefs. The chicken was cold and dry, and the salad wilted on the counter, but we didn’t care. We were starving.
Even though the food wasn’t fresh or hot, I could tell her chicken was hands down the winner. I’d spent my whole life cooking, but nothing tasted like the dish she put in front of me. “What’s in this?”
She smiled, that smile she had where her eyes lit up with mischief and her nose crinkled just a little. I loved that smile. “It’s a secret. I’m not sure I can trust you.”
“Is that so? Because from what I remember you trusted me a lot just last night.”
Her cheeks pinked with the memory of exactly how much she trusted me the night before. “That was different.”
“Really? Because it felt a whole
