Dua couldn’t stop the smile that softened her face the second Nicholas’ hands settled against her. Earlier in the year, everything between them had been distraction, flirtation, late-night conversations to temporarily drown out heartbreak. Somewhere along the way, though, Nicholas had become some sort of comfort too. Her body reacted to him instinctively now, leaning into his touch before her brain even had the chance to catch up. Her lips met his easily, warm and familiar, lingering for just a second longer while one of her hands slid to the nape of his neck. The short growth there brushed against her fingers, earning her the faintest smile against his mouth. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” Dua said softly once she finally pulled back enough to properly look at him. And unfortunately for her own sanity, he really didn’t. The open collar of his shirt, the scent of his cologne, the way he somehow managed to look put together and relaxed at the same time, it was deeply unfair. She let her gaze drift over him for a second before brushing her fingertips teasingly along his jaw. Then, because she couldn’t help herself, she caught his lower lip lightly between her teeth before letting him go again.
At his obvious surprise over the food, Dua glanced toward the kitchen behind her and laughed quietly under her breath. “Why is me cooking such a shocking concept to you?” she asked, lifting both brows in mock offense. “Do I look incapable of feeding myself?” She slipped out of his embrace slowly, though not before letting her fingers drag lightly down the front of his chest as she moved backward toward the kitchen island. She could still feel his eyes following her, and if she stood a little straighter because of it, nobody needed to know. “I figured Napa robbed us of any actual time together,” she continued casually, reaching for the foil covering the steaks. “So I thought I’d wine and dine you properly myself.” She pulled the foil back with a small flourish. “And before you say anything,” Dua added quickly, pointing at him with narrowed eyes, “yes, they’re perfectly cooked. I know what I’m doing.” The kitchen smelled warm and rich. garlic, butter, rosemary, red wine lingering in the air alongside the faint traces of her perfume. It felt intimate in a way she hadn’t expected when she invited him over. “Over here,” she said, motioning toward the stove, “we’ve got mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables that I may or may not have over-seasoned after the second glass of wine, garlic bread…” She opened the fridge and glanced back over her shoulder with a satisfied little smirk. “And tiramisu. Homemade.” Dua leaned back lightly against the counter, folding her arms. “So I’d say this is all pretty impressive, actually.” Then she paused. “Wait.” Her expression shifted thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’ve ever cooked for you before.” The realization genuinely surprised her.
Nicholas had seen plenty of versions of her already, drunk Dua, sleepy Dua, emotionally avoidant Dua, dancing on tabletops at 2am Dua but somehow not this one. Not the version of her that cooked dinner while singing along to Hozier and cared whether someone liked the tiramisu she spent an hour making. “Hm,” she hummed softly, studying him for a second. “That feels wrong somehow.” Her lips curved again. “See? Now you get to feel special.” Her eyes drifted toward the half-finished martini abandoned near the sink and she wrinkled her nose immediately. “Okay, slight issue,” Dua admitted. “I may have started drinking without you.” Though judging by the smile threatening at the corners of her mouth, she clearly didn’t regret it very much. “But don’t worry,” she continued smoothly, already grabbing another chilled glass, “I happen to be an excellent bartender. And I achieved that entirely without the ridiculous mixology class everyone became obsessed with in Napa.” She prepared his martini quickly and confidently before crossing back toward him, handing him the drink with an extra olive skewered neatly inside. “There,” she said proudly. “Extra olive because I’m generous.” She picked up her own glass and clinked it gently against his. “Cheers." The gin burned pleasantly on the way down as she took a sip before setting the glass aside. “I’m glad you came,” she admitted honestly. The past few months had been strange and messy and full of changes she still hadn’t fully processed. But Nicholas had somehow slipped into the middle of all of it without making demands or asking difficult questions she didn’t want to answer. Being around him felt easy in a way very few things had lately. Of course, Dua being Dua, she ruined the sincerity almost immediately. “You were apparently far too busy and important to hang out with me properly in Napa. I really thought I’d get special treatment.” She rolled her eyes before taking another sip. She stepped a little closer again, close enough now to catch the scent of his cologne every time he moved. “So now,” Dua continued lightly, her gaze holding his for a lingering second longer than necessary, “you’re going to have to make it up to me.” Then her expression softened again. “But first,” she muttered, “are you hungry?”
