CHAPTER 14 Delia #2
His hand moved through my hair slowly. “Talking’s overrated anyway.”
I laughed but it came out shaky. “You’re being smug.”
“A little.”
“Why?”
“Because I got you speechless.” He kissed my forehead. “I’m counting that as a win.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it.”
I did. I really did.
We fell asleep like that. When I woke up later, the room was darker. Axel was already awake, just watching me with this look that made my stomach warm.
His thumb brushed my cheek. “You okay?”
“Everything’s different now.”
“Yeah.” He said it quietly. Sure. “No taking it back.”
“I don’t want to take it back.” I met his gaze, meaning every word.
His eyes darkened, and he kissed me again—slower this time but just as consuming—and we found each other all over again, losing ourselves in the moment until neither of us could breathe.
Eventually I made it to the kitchen wearing his shirt. “I need water. And food. Actual food.”
“I can make food.” Axel showed up behind me looking way too pleased with himself.
“You’re going to cook? Now?”
“You need to eat. And you need your strength.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re not done.” His voice dropped, and my face went hot. “Not even close.”
“Axel—”
“What? We’re making up for lost time.”
“You are impossible!”
“Touché.” His lips were curved in that devious, impossible charming smile and I knew I was gone. I was completely gone for him.
Two weeks later, it was becoming a routine. I woke up in Axel’s bed to the smell of something incredible coming from the kitchen.
I found him standing at the stove, shirtless, cooking something that made my mouth water just from the smell. His hair was messy from sleep—or from my hands the night before. Probably both.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Your favorite.”
I moved closer. The dish looked perfect. Like it had come straight from the restaurant kitchen. “How do you know how to make this?”
He didn’t look at me. Just kept stirring. “I might have watched some videos.”
“What kind of videos?”
“Just cooking videos.”
“Axel.”
He sighed. Set down the spoon. “Old videos from Hector’s cooking show years ago. I might have watched all forty-two episodes.”
I started laughing. Couldn’t help it. “You watched forty-two episodes of cooking shows to learn how to make my favorite food?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds obsessive.”
“It is obsessive!”
“You said it was your favorite. I wanted to learn how to make it.” He looked at me finally. “Is that weird?”
“It’s the sweetest, most ridiculously nerdy thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
He pulled me against him. “I can work with that.”
We ate breakfast on his balcony. The city spread out below us, the morning sun making everything look gold. The food was perfect. Better than perfect. And watching Axel watch me eat it with that satisfied expression made me fall a little harder.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I replied too quickly.
“Tell me.”
“It will get into your head.” I said.
He grinned, “A lot of things have already gotten into my head. Try me.”
I swallowed a huge bite. “I’m thinking this tastes better than what the restaurant makes. Or maybe it’s because you made it,”
His smile could have powered up this whole building, “I made it with a lot of affection,”
I laughed at that “I can tell,”
More weeks passed, and everything was going perfectly. Maybe more than perfect.
Axel took me to dinner at one of the restaurant branches I’d been wanting to try for months. The kind of place that had a waitlist measured in seasons and a dress code I had to Google.
I’d bought a new dress. Nothing crazy. But nice enough that Axel had stopped mid-sentence when I’d walked out of his bedroom wearing it.
“You look—” He’d stopped. Started again. “We’re skipping dinner.”
“We’re not skipping dinner. I’ve been wanting to try this place forever.”
“We can order takeout.”
“Axel.”
“Fine. But we’re leaving early.”
We didn’t leave early. The food was incredible. The wine was perfect. The conversation flowed easy and natural like we’d been doing this for years instead of weeks.
“How did you even get a reservation?” I asked. “Don’t people wait months for this?”
“I know people.”
“You invested in their expansion, didn’t you?”
“That’s not why we got the reservation.”
“Axel.”
“What? They had a solid business plan. Good food. Strong management. It made sense to invest.”
“You invested in a restaurant so I could eat here?” I couldn’t believe what I was even hearing.
“I invested in a restaurant because it was a good opportunity. You being able to eat here is just a convenient side effect.”
I kicked him under the table. He smiled and caught my foot. Then, he kept it trapped against his ankle for the rest of dinner.
The waiter brought the check. Axel signed without looking.
“You didn’t even look at the total,” I said.
“Does it matter?”
“Most people look at the bill.”
“I’m not most people.” He stood and offered me his hand. “And I don’t care what it costs if you enjoyed it.”
On the drive back to his place, he held my hand over the center console and I thought about how this was my life now. I didn’t think living could get any better.
The next week, I showed up at his office unannounced.
Mark greeted me with a smile “He’s in a meeting, but I’ll inform him you are here,”
He started to leave and then paused. He turned at me again.
“You know you’re terrible for his productivity, right?” He gave me a look that was equal parts amused and long-suffering.
“I’m excellent for his productivity.”
“That’s not what the quarterly reports say.”
Axel appeared in the doorway to his office. “Delia. What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“You live in Brooklyn.”
“So? I can’t visit my boyfriend at work?”
Something in his face softened at the word boyfriend. Like every time I said it, it became more real. “Come in.”
His office was huge—windows overlooking the city, expensive furniture, art on the walls that made my fingers itch to examine them properly.
I closed the door behind me.
“You can’t come here and be this beautiful during work hours,” he said, eyes raking over me. “Company policy.” His voice dropped into a drawl.
“Then, does this policy allow you to kiss me?”
He moved, pulling me against him, kissing me like he’d been thinking about it all day. His hands slid into my hair and I pressed closer and forgot where we were until someone knocked.
We broke apart, breathing hard.
An assistant came in and dropped some files on his desk. Axel scowled; I grinned at him sheepishly.
“Show me something,” I said, nodding toward the files. “Show me what you do.”
He pulled up something on his laptop. Showed me the software that ran in museums across the world. He explained algorithms and search functions and data management in that nerdy way he had—the one that made him light up.
“You love this,” I said.
“I like solving problems.”
“No. You love this. I can tell.”
He smiled. “Maybe.”
“Show me more.”
He did. Pulled up project proposals and expansion plans and talked about connecting art to people who needed it.
About making culture accessible instead of hidden behind institutional gates.
The whole time I watched him more than the screen because Axel Irving talking about things he cared about was better than any art I’d ever seen.
“What about your paintings?” he asked suddenly. “Why don’t you show them? Exhibit them?”
“They’re not good enough.”
“That’s not true.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I’ve seen them. Even when we were kids, you were always my favorite artist.”
I stared at him. “Where did this sweet tongue suddenly come from?”
“It’s not sudden. And it’s true. I’ve always thought your work was incredible.”
“I paint for passion. The world doesn’t need to see it.”
“What if I think the world does?”
“Then you’re biased.”
He pulled me onto his lap. “Maybe I am. But I’m also right.”
“Axel—”
He kissed me again. This time with intent. His hands slid under my shirt and mine went to his hair and things were about to get very inappropriate for an office when someone knocked. Again.
“Go away,” Axel said without breaking the kiss.
“It’s Mark. I wouldn’t interrupt if it wasn’t important.”
Axel pulled back with an expression that made me want to laugh. He looked like a child who’d been told Christmas was canceled—betrayed, outraged, and slightly murderous.
“This better be important,” Axel called out, glaring at the door like it had personally offended him. “Otherwise someone is typing out their resignation letter today.”
“The Tokyo investors are on the phone. They’ve been waiting ten minutes.”
Axel’s glare intensified. I did laugh then. I couldn’t help it.
“Go,” I said. “Take your call.”
“I don’t want to take the call.”
“Yes, you do. You’re just being difficult.”
He kissed me once more—quick, hard. “Stay. We’ll have dinner after.”
“Okay.”
I watched him take the call, switching into professional mode like flipping a switch, and thought about how I got to have all of him. The nerdy museum CEO and the man who blushed when I called him pretty and the person who’d learned my favorite meal by watching cooking videos.
This was the happiest I’d ever been.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, a small voice whispered that things this good never lasted. That happiness this complete always came with a price and the universe was just waiting for the perfect moment to remind me nothing was permanent.
I ignored the voice.
Completely.