Page 58 of Hate Mail

“You know, there are children who live in this building.”

He lets go of me, and my legs slide down his body until I’m standing on my own again. We both turn to my door – which I forgot we left open – and see the same woman who scoffed at us when we were eating in the hallway the other day.

My face heats. I’m sure my skin is bright red. I reach over and close the door, but I know the mood has already been killed.

“Maybe we should wait,” he says.

My gaze drops to his jeans, where his body seems to be protesting his words. “Right.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I do. Believe me.”

“You don’t have to explain,” I assure him.

We stand in my hallway, facing each other. His chest rises and falls with each new breath. A smile teases his lips.

“You might want to fix your hair before we leave,” he says.

I snort out a laugh, the tension broken. I reach up and feel my hair, then look him over. His hair is sticking up where I was holding onto it. “You too,” I say.

The side of his mouth quirks up, and then he leans down and kisses me. “Get ready,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”

* * *

I haven’t been to a hibachi restaurant in years. Not since I left Oklahoma. His hand lands on my lower back as we approach the building. His touch is warm. He keeps his hand there even as we come through the doors. The hostess looks up from her stand.

“We have a reservation under the name—”

“Naomi Light!” the waitress says, interrupting him when she recognizes me. “The weathergirl! I watch you on the news every morning.” Her whole face lights up like I’m a celebrity or something.

I laugh awkwardly.

“When I saw your name on the reservation list, I thought it had to be a joke,” she continues. She grabs a couple of menus. “You can come right this way.”

Once we’re seated, I lean in and whisper, “Did you use my name for the reservation?”

He shrugs. “I gave them both of our names. I guess yours is the only one she recognized.”

The chef arrives at our table and begins preparing our food. He makes a show out of it, playing with fire and juggling eggs. Jake orders steak and I get chicken and shrimp. Once our food is served and the chef leaves, I turn to look at him.

“I forgot to ask how the adoption event went. Did the kittens get a new home?”

He shakes his head. “No one wanted them. Looks like I get to keep them for another week.”

“Really? I’m surprised. Who wouldn’t want to adopt a couple of kittens that know how to bowl?”

He shrugs. “There’s another adoption event this weekend. No one adopted them because I want them to go together, and not many people want to adopt two cats at the same time. But they’re bonded, and I’d hate to separate them.”

We both spend a few minutes eating and enjoying our food. I’m about to pop a shrimp into my mouth when I notice him watching me.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, dropping the shrimp back down on my plate. “Should I cover my face with a napkin while I eat these?”

He laughs. “I told you I’m not offended by seafood. Now if you were eating dolphin on the other hand…”

I frown. “Do people actually do that?”

“In some parts of the world,” he says with a shrug.

“Want to try one?” I pick the shrimp back up with my fork and hold it out to him. He cringes, shaking his head. I roll my eyes. “I thought you weren’t offended by seafood.”

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