“Keep saying things like that,” she cuts in, my offer to help obviously calming her a little.

“I don’t have work tomorrow and my parents don’t need me, so I can drive you to the school. You don’t have to worry about a train or anything. You won’t be late. You’ll be well-prepared and you’ll knock them dead.”

“Okay,” she agrees almost instantly. “I’ll call you when I’m on the train.”

“Sounds good.” I close my binder, folding over the page I was trying to read.

“Oh, but David. One thing,” she requests.

“Sure, whatever you need.”

“Please tell me you have more than frozen peas and stale toast.” Though she seems to have said her question mostly in jest, I can hear a touch of seriousness in her words.

I laugh. “Of course. That pizza is still sitting on the counter.” I wish I was joking, but sadly, I’m not.

“Really?”

“No, I’m kidding.” I lie, walking into the kitchen to toss away the evidence of my laziness. “But yes, I’ll make sure I have some actual food,” I promise.

“Good. And one more thing.”

“Yes, dear,” I mock playfully.

“Thank you.”

When she ends the call, I realize I’ve got to get my ass to the supermarket and clean up the mess I’ve managed to make in the few days since she’s been here.

Bachelorhood and me are clearly comfortable with one another and while I’m not entirely ready for throw pillows and all that frilly shit, a fridge full of food and clean floors wouldn’t be entirely terrible.

By the looks of it, I’ve got about five minutes before her train arrives at the station. At least that’s what the distorted voice blaring over the loudspeaker tells me. And as if right on cue, Grace texts me, letting me know she’ll be here any minute.

When she steps off the train, she looks harried, and completely overwhelmed. From where I’m standing, I count three bags, one of which is slipping off her shoulder.

Before she falls through the gap between the train and the platform, I walk over to her. When her eyes settle on me, she lets out a deep breath of relief. “Oh, thank God you’re here,” she blurts out, relieved and out of breath. “I don’t think I would have made it down the stairs on my own.”

Holding out my hand, I tell her, “Give me those.” Hefting the weight of her books and an overnight bag, I take her garment bag from her hands and drape it over my arm. “You okay?” I ask as we descend the stairs. “You seem . . .” Pausing, I try to find the right word.

“All over the freaking place?” She fills in the blank for me, a nervous laugh accompanying her words. “That’s because I am. This is huge. And totally unexpected. I don’t even know what to plan. I was told I could do anything. Do you know how unnerving that is? What if they hate it?”

She rambles on and on, not even realizing we’ve stopped right next to my car. After dropping her bags into the back seat, I stand in front of her. Her back is pressed up against the door, and I cage her to the spot, dropping my hands to the hood behind her. “Grace,” I say calmly, pressing my body against hers. She quiets immediately, deep, shuddery breaths replacing her frantic and feverish words. Running my nose along the length of hers, her sweet breath bathes over my skin. Cupping her jaw in one hand, I smooth my thumb over her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed as her chest rises and falls on a deep breath. “Relax,” I say, my lips on her cheek. “Breathe,” I whisper, moving my lips closer to hers. “Breathe.” Then my lips are on hers, soft and sweet. She tastes like cinnamon and Heaven—what I would imagine a mixture of sin and salvation would taste like.

Wrapping her hands around my waist, she hooks her thumbs into the belt loops of my jeans. And then her fingers graze the skin on my lower back, making me press my body even harder against her. When a car honks as it passes us, I remember we’re still in the very public parking lot of the Seaford train station—not exactly the most romantic of locations.

Pulling back from her, I run my nose along hers once more. Her hand goes to my face, stroking over the day-old stubble on my jaw. “All better now?” I ask, though her body melted against mine gives me all the answer I need.

“Uh huh,” she mutters, breathless and seemingly satisfied.

“Good.” Smiling at her, I reach behind her to unlatch the door. “Now let’s get back to my place and get to work. I have a feeling you’re the type to feel better once they’re elbow deep in work.”

She smiles back, her eyes shy and her lips full. “How’d you know that?”

“Just a lucky guess, but I’m the same way.”

She slides into her seat and me into mine. For the ten minute ride back to my apartment, she talks about a few ideas she’s having for her lesson. I wouldn’t call myself uneducated, but English Lit is most definitely not my strong suit. But listening to her ideas, her passion about reading and writing becomes crystal clear.

She’s intelligent and articulate.

And ridiculously adorable as she weighs her options aloud.

Her rambling continues as we walk up the stairs to my apartment and it isn’t until she flops back on the couch that she even realizes where we are.

“So it’s three now. How about we both get two solid hours of work in before we take a break?” Handing her the bag with her books in it, I slide next to her on the couch. Moving my books to the other side of the table, I settle back against the cushions.

“What are you working on?” she asks, eying my binder. There’s more than a little surprise in the tone of her words.

“Nothing, really,” I deflect. Not one for attention, I close the binder and try to refocus the conversation back to her lesson. “So what are you–”

“Oh no.” Laughing, she waggles a finger in my face. “You told me you were studying. So what is it?”

“There’s a lieutenant’s test in a few months. I’ve been really busy with my parents, so I need to catch up.” Patting the top of my binder, I tip my chin at her bag. “So let’s get to it, huh?” With my glasses back on, I open the book and remove the cap on my highlighter.

“Hey?”

I look up. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” she coos. “I just needed to do a double take.”

“These?” I ask, sliding them off my face.

“Yeah those.” Her voice is thick with something.

“Hate them, but can’t read without them. I guess I have both of my parents to thank for that.” Laughing, I deflect the usual discomfort I feel over having to wear reading glasses. Having dealt with them since I was thirteen, they’re the one thing in my life over which I feel self-conscious. Genetics are a bitch like that.

“You can hate them all you want.” Her pink tongue slips out of her mouth, tracing along the plump line of her lower lip. “But I think they make you look hot.” After a brief pause, she says, “Hotter, actually.”

Well, then.

Score one for the glasses, finally.

“Music okay with you? Or do you need silence?” With the remote in her hand, she’s poised to turn on the television. “There’s a channel that plays classical music.” Crinkling her nose, she looks adorably beautiful, explaining, “I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but it helps me think. There’s actual clinical research proving–”

“Grace,” I cut her off mid-sentence. “I don’t need a dissertation.” I laugh. “If you want to listen to some music, that’s fine. I don’t need it to be quiet.”

Her responding smile lights up her entire face, and the room for that matter. Once the piano notes fill the room, I’m glad for the background noise. Without it, the sounds of her breathing would be the only ones in the room. Then it would be impossible not to watch her inhale and exhale, loving the rise and fall of her luscious chest, wondering what her breasts would feel like in my hands.

Yep, Mozart has my appreciation right about now.