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It’s only a short while later that Des finishes the omelets, my dish floating over to me, his trailing after. They clatter down on the table, forks and napkins hustling through the air after them.

Des takes a seat across from me, dragging his chair back, and holy Jesus, a shirtless Des is sitting at my table. My lady parts aren’t handling the situation well.

He raises his eyebrows at me, and looks pointedly at the meal.

The Bargainer leans back in his chair. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Giving me yourfuck meeyes. I’m trying to be a gentleman and not screw you right here on your kitchen table.”

I set my coffee aside. “The table can take a beating …”

This may legitimatelybe heaven.

“Can we do this always?” I ask.

I’m sitting cross-legged on the table, my clothing skewed. Scattered across the floor are the remnants of breakfast, the omelets splattered across the ground, the dishes shattered to pieces.

Why hadn’t Des and I come back to earth sooner? It’s obvious this is where we get our freak on. Honeymoon: my house … then Des’s house … then somewhere in the clouds between the two.

Des steps up to me, his pants back in place. He brushes a kiss against my lips, then extends a hand. The pieces of my broken mug vibrate off the floor, then fit themselves back together. The splattered coffee funnels itself into the air and then back in the mug.

The Bargainer hands it to me. “Need you even ask such a question? I’llinsistwe do this.”

I take the cup of coffee from him. “Thanks.”

He sits down next to me on the kitchen table, a mug of his own floating into his hand. Breakfast begins to fix itself back up, the omelets reforming, the plates piecing themselves together. They clatter onto the table.

“What shall we do today?” Des sounds downright devious.

“I thought we’d already figured that one out.”

“Demanding little siren. I’m nothing but your little sex doll, aren’t I?”

I shake my head, blowing on my coffee. (Somehow, Des managed to make it steaming hot.) “You have me all figured out.”

He flashes me a mischievous smile. “I was thinking we might do a little something between shags.” He snaps his fingers. “Ah, I know.”

I glance over at him. He looks a little too conniving for my taste.

A minute later, a box floats out of my guest room. At first, I think we’re doing Redecorating Callie’s Home, Part II. But then I recognize the box heading our way.

I nearly drop my mug.

“What are you doing, Des?”

This is not a part of my past that I want to explore with him right now—or ever.

The box drops onto the ground in front of us.

“What does it look like I’m doing—digging up all your dirty little secrets. Oh look—this box isn’t dusty like ours was. Someone revisits these things frequently.”

I’m clenching my mug now.

The cardboard flaps of the box pop open.

I lean forward and slam a hand down on them, closing the box back up. “Let’s not.”