Page 132 of Crazy In Love

His eyes swing back to mine, wide and questioning and only half panicked. “Plainview?”

“You didn’t already sell the house, did you?”

“My house?” he gulps. “You… my house?”

“I could live at the bookstore for a little while, I guess. Make sure we’re still inti amo.”

“Not. Right!”

“But eventually, I’m gonna get tired of driving across town in the middle of the night, then sneaking out again in the morning before Alanawakes up. That kind of nonsense is for twenty-something-year-olds. I’m turning thirty soon.”

“You want to live at my house?” Finally, his lips curl into a smile. “You promise?”

“Can we go bed shopping?”

“Yes!”

“But we have to buy the bed you hate the absolute most. It has to be white and heavy, and if you think it’s ugly, that’s better.”

“Okay.” He draws my hands higher, breathing warm air between his palms. “And we’ll fly to Rome how often?”

“Once a month,” Amedeo declares.

“Never!” Booker snarls. “Our negotiations are not yet complete. For now, she’ll fly to New York one week a month.” And then he sighs. “Starting next month, once she’s settled in at her new place.”

“Which will beyourplace.” My cheeks stretch higher, and my lips tremble. But my smile is back. And damn, it feels good. “This was a really nice declaration of love, by the way.”

“You think so?” He pulls back to study the mess he’s made. “It was insanely hard getting that silverware past TSA. I almost got an internal exam.”

“Everyone would have been looking at you.”

“I hated every single second of it.” He slides his hand around to the back of my neck and tugs me to the tips of my toes. “Iamoyou, Fox Tatum.”

“Gah!” Amedeo huffs. “You’re doing it badly on purpose.”

“This is how you feel when you take my forks, huh? You do it on purpose because it’s kinda fun.”

“Yeah.” I study his lips and wait. Wait. Wait. It’s not a declaration of love until we kiss. “You love me? Out loud? Are you willing to go to a town meeting and tell all those old bitches to stop looking at me mean?”

“So willing. I’ll shout at them if you want me to.” He presses his forehead to mine. “You love me, too, right? Not just friends?”

I choke out a silly, trembling laugh. But then I shake my head and set my hands on his shoulders. “Not just friends. Notevenfriends.” I lick my lips and wait for the payoff. It’s coming. “We’re going to annoy the hell out of each other.”

“I hope so.” He drags me closer and seals his promise with a kiss, swiping my bottom lip with his tongue and squeezing the back of my neck with his fingers until it hurts. But it hurts so good. “My house. On the lake. We’ll share Franky and Hazel equally. I’ll cook nice food, so you get to smellsomething other than deep-fried crap all the time. Oh, and I wanna stop at the Galápagos before we go home.”

“Okay.” I kiss him, too. I’m allowed. He’s mine now. “I still have a week left of my vacation time, anyway.”

“But what about the olives?”

Stunned, I inch back and search his eyes. “What?”

“The olives.” He stares, stares, stares until I feel the heat of his intensity. “Do you, or do you not, like olives?”

“I hate olives.” God, it feels good to say so. “I hate them so much, Chris.”

“I knew it!” He fists my hair and brings me to the very tips of my toes. “I’m gonna make a point of knowing you better than I know myself. No more olives, I promise.”

He’s my Lloyd Dobler, and this is my moment.