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I make it up the steps onto the porch and pause to catch my breath. I’m winded. Why the fuck am I winded?

I’m only about 30 percent recovered when the front door opens, spilling light and soft music. I jerk upright and plaster on a smile I hope doesn’t look like a crazy person’s.

“Hi,” I wheeze.

Leo smirks, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. He’s in business slacks and a white shirt sans tie, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. A kitchen towel drapes over one shoulder, and his hair is styled, boasting the familiar razor-sharp part. That, of all things, is what calms me down.

“Did you walk here?” he deadpans, noting my flushed face and erratic breathing.

I push a few stray hairs from my face. “Can I lie to you?”

His smile grows. “Go for it.”

“Yes, I walked. Needed some exercise.”

He bites his lower lip, glancing behind me. “It’s a strenuous trip from the curb up to the porch, huh?”

I nod. “Basically an Iron Man competition.”

A smile blooms, crinkling his eyes. “Come here, Amelia.”

“Okay,” I whisper, not moving.

So he comes to me, smile softening as he takes the straps of my backpack and pulls it off, then captures my hand in his.

“I still make you nervous,” he says mildly as he escorts me into the house. I barely notice my surroundings other than pale walls and reclaimed wood floors. His hand is hot, like a small sun on my clammy palm.

“No. I mean, yes. I wasn’t expecting…” I trail off, staring into a beautiful living room with comfy couches, a low coffee table littered with various toys and man-clutter, fireplace, and big flat-screen TV.

“You thought I lived in a sterile box, didn’t you?”

My gaze jerks to his face and wry expression. “Maybe.”

He chuckles, dropping my backpack inside the front door. “Are you hungry? I got home late tonight and just cooked dinner. There’s enough for two.”

My stomach is in knots, but I nod. “I could eat, sure.”

His fingers squeeze mine then release. “I was just about to throw pasta in some water. Is meat sauce okay? I can’t remember if you’re a vegetarian.”

Stop being so perfect, asshole. I can’t handle it.

“I’m not. That sounds great. I love pasta and meat. Me and meat and pasta go way back.”

Fuckitty-fuck, Mia. My eyes roll upward, hoping to manifest a lightning bolt to strike me down and end it all.

Leo’s hands cupping my face jolt me into the moment. His bright blue eyes are mere inches from mine. I wonder how I ever thought they were icy. There’s nothing remotely cold in them now.

“Hey,” he whispers.

I release a shuddering breath. “Hi. Sorry for the freak-out.”

“No need to apologize. I don’t want you to pretend with me. I want to know what you’re thinking and feeling. Full disclosure here, okay?”

Not gonna happen, buddy.

I nod. “Sure.”

His lips touch mine lightly, coaxing them to part. I surrender and sag against him, tension unraveling from my body as his tongue finds mine. The kiss is dizzying, his touch and heat permeating my senses.