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He raises a brow, showing he’s clearly abad guy.

“Notyou,” I quickly correct. “I’m talking Jeffrey Dahmer, King Joffrey bad guys. You’re just morally gray.” I spin on my heel, turning to the stove to stir the sauce.

“Morally gray?” he asks my back.

I turn on my heel to face him again. “Men who aren’t clearly bad or evil. Complex men who make you question whether their motives are pure or not.”

He licks his lips, rearing back in amusement. “Doyouthink my motives are pure?”

“Undecided, hence, themorally gray.”

“You let me know when you decide then.”

The oven timer beeping interrupts our conversation. Julian stands, circling the island and grabbing the potholder on his way to the stove. He bumps his hip against mine—more playful than I’ve ever seen him in my life—and beats me to opening the oven.

“You ready for our first dinner date?” I ask as he draws out the bread and sets it on the counter.

“This isn’t a dinner date,” he states matter-of-factly, closing the oven door.

I rest my hands on my waist. “This issoa dinner date. Admit it, or no pasta for you.”

26

My father usedto say that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach.

I always told him he was full of shit.

There was no way to my heart.

No meal. No woman. No fucking gestures that could reach it.

My heart? There’s no route to it.

Hell, it hardly exists.

It’s tortured and decayed.

Just like my soul.

Yet right now, as Genesis waits for me to give in, I think of him.

His sayings and advice.

Then, I think of my mother.

The time and love she put into cooking for us.

Genesis put that same time and care into making dinner, just for me.

It’s more than just a simple dinner.

I blow out a raspy breath. “Get your ass to the table for our dinner date.”

There.

I said it.

I caved.