Chapter 23 Melanie
MELANIE
I padded down the stairs, tugging my hair into a high ponytail, the slap of my fuzzy slippers against the hardwood slicing through the thick, sleepy air.
I crossed my arms, leaning against the banister, watching the way his back muscles shifted under the thin blanket, the way the early morning shadows clung to the ridges of him.
“Rise and shine, soldier,” I said when I hit the bottom step.
Nick groaned, his face buried in the pillow, his voice low and rough with sleep. “Is it two already?”
“Yup,” I said, crossing the room to the kitchen. “And I didn’t eat dinner last night just so I could enjoy some eggnog with my grilled cheese sandwich.”
“That sounds like an odd combination.”
So do we.
But somehow, we work.
I pulled open the fridge door, feeling his gaze follow me. “It’s December, so I’m trying to get in the spirit of Christmas. Nothing screams Christmas like eggnog and packing on a few pounds.”
It had been a week since Nick kissed me — kissed me so hard and deep I could still feel it.
No one around, no cameras, no explanations.
I kept trying to rationalize it, but the truth was, it wasn’t just lust. It couldn’t be.
Because my body still reacted to him even now, without permission, without reason.
He snatched the bread out of my hands.
His fingers grazed mine as he snatched the bread, a spark snapping through my skin so sharply I nearly dropped it.]
“I’m cooking the grilled cheese tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m tired of just cheese and bread. I’m gonna spice it up my way.”
I smirked. “It’s called a grilled cheese, but have it your way, soldier. No tomatoes, though.”
“You can take them off. Just try it.”
“I just told you I don’t like tomatoes.”
“That makes no sense because you love salsa.”
“Lots of things don’t make sense. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t true.”
“Fine, do you like apples?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Just sit back and prepare to be amazed.”
I leaned against the counter, watching him. Watching too closely. The kitchen felt too small, too full of him. Every slice of the knife, every low exhale he let out, thudded inside me like a second heartbeat.
“I’m definitely going to be amazed if you can pull off adding apples to a grilled cheese sandwich… and make it taste good.”
He tossed a grin over his shoulder, one that hit me square in the chest. “Anything of mine tastes good.”
Butterflies erupted, wild and relentless, clawing up my throat.
I forced myself to look away, but every movement he made was magnetic.
Effortless. Dangerous. Nick wasn’t just cooking — he was seducing, whether he realized it or not.
The way he powered on the stove, how the butter melted into a golden pool as he sliced apples with slow precision, a sprinkle of cinnamon dusting the air…
It was maddening. I didn’t know watching a man cook could be sexy, but then again, nothing about Nick Console fit inside the lines of what I thought I knew.
“Have you always liked to cook?” I asked, my voice too thin, too needy. I didn’t want small talk — I wanted him. Wanted the heat, the pull, the unfinished kiss between us to finally break open.
“Not always. I grew to like it. I hated cooking for my sister when my mom was working late or… gone. Luckily, Nora would help me. It’s why I learned how to make a lot of American and Italian dishes.”
He switched the bread out for sourdough, hands moving with easy confidence.
“Is that why you have a confusing menu at your restaurant?”
He paused, just briefly — enough for me to see the tension ripple under his skin — before shrugging it off and laying slices of cheese down.
“I wouldn’t say it’s confusing.”
“Yeah, well… when the restaurant screams Italian and people show up for that and then see burgers and chicken tenders, it’s a little confusing. Less is more sometimes.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
The buttery smell was intoxicating, thickening the air between us. My stomach growled embarrassingly loud.
“My marketing class taught me that a confused mind says no.”
“Is that what you were going to college for?”
“I don’t know. Marketing and creating stuff interested me, so I went that route. Not sure if I’d be any good at it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not good at much.”
Nick stopped, turning around fully this time, plate in hand, his gaze cutting through me like a blade. Nick moved in, slow and unintentional, and suddenly I had to tip my chin up just to hold his gaze. The air between us pulsed, thick and electric.
“Your parents never told you they were proud of you?”
“No.” The word slipped out brittle, broken. I stared down at the counter, memories flooding back — the dark, desperate nights, the high of escape, the shame of coming back down. “I wasn’t a bad student… just more into drugs and…” I swallowed, throat tight. “Partying.”
He didn’t flinch. Just kept moving. Listening. Like he knew there were demons crawling inside me and didn’t care.
“Surely you have something you’re really good at.”
Acting.
I shook my head. “Nah. When all you’re told you’re good for is being pretty… people assume that’s all you are, that you’re not capable of thinking for yourself. That you’re just good for sex… or being some blonde bimbo.”
Nick placed the bacon-laced sandwich on a plate, setting it down in front of me, the scent dizzying and mouthwatering. But it was the way he looked at me — really looked at me — that made my skin burn.
“Are you—” he started, shrugging almost shyly.
“Am I what?” My voice was barely a whisper.
“Good in bed?”
My fingers clenched around the sandwich so hard I thought I might crush it.
The room spun slightly, a slow, dangerous tilt I couldn’t stop.
The question cracked open a thousand wounds inside me.
I stared at him, pulse roaring in my ears.
I didn’t know. Not really. Because hookups were just survival — numb, mechanical, desperate.
“Isn’t it the guy that has to be good in bed?” I muttered, grabbing the sandwich, taking a savage bite just to ground myself. The flavor exploded on my tongue — salty, sweet, sinful. I moaned without meaning to, closing my eyes against the pure pleasure.
Nick chuckled low in his throat, that same wicked grin tugging at his mouth.
“Thank you,” he said.
I swallowed, savoring every second of the distraction.
“And great sex isn’t just about getting off,” he added casually, almost too casually.
I froze mid-chew, heart stopping, staring across the table at him. The word hit me low, sinking into my gut like a brand. Connection. I wondered if he could see how badly I wanted it. Wanted him.
“It’s about connection.”That would explain my lack of great sex.
I’d never had a connection with anyone I’d been intimate with—if I could even call it intimacy. Most of the guys I hooked up with were nameless shadows in dark rooms, the kind of encounters where the lights stayed off and the clothes barely came off before it was over. Quick. Forgettable.
I did it because I thought it was expected of me. Just like my stepdad taught me. Just like I was supposed to.
I felt Nick’s gaze anchor me to the present, hot and unrelenting.
“You speak like you’re talking from experience,” I tell him.
“I’ve had a handful of girlfriends, and the sex was always better with someone I shared a connection with over one-night stands or random hookups.”
His voice rumbled low, dragging a shiver straight down my spine.
“Right, I’ll take your word for it.”
I shoved another bite of sandwich into my mouth, ducking my head to avoid the weight of his eyes. The knot forming in my gut told me he saw more than I wanted him to.
He watched me for a beat, chewing slowly, assessing me like he could peel back my layers without lifting a single finger.
“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” he asked.
I froze for a half second, the question slicing into a place I kept locked down tight. I figured tonight, we could switch it up a bit.
“If you want to know the truth, then let’s play truth or dare.”
He raised a single eyebrow at me, skeptical and curious all at once. It made my breath catch.
“Why?”
“Well, it’s fun and it will help us get to know one another.”
The words spilled out faster than I could temper them. Although I had been feeling much better because I wasn’t drinking anymore, there was a gnawing restlessness clawing at my insides. Sobriety left me feeling too much, too raw, too aware. And the silence between us was loud.
“We are getting to know each other better already,” he said, taking a hearty bite of his sandwich, molten cheese oozing down onto the plate. I followed the trail of it with my eyes, jealousy blooming in my chest. I wanted that casual ease. I wanted to taste that ease.
“I know, but can’t we do something different?”
He took a slow sip of his water, never taking his eyes off me. It was like he was measuring me against something, calculating risks he hadn’t signed up for.
“We did,” he said. “I made a different type of sandwich.”
I pouted like a little girl, irritation prickling just under my skin. Sobriety stripped away all my shields. The withdrawal wasn’t just chemical—it was emotional. It made me reckless.
“C’mon, Nick. I’m trying really hard not to drink, and although I feel better, I’m bored shitless doing the same thing over and over. I’m not used to routine like you. I’d really appreciate it if you humored me and played a game to spice up our conversations a bit. Okay?”
He stared at me with that infuriating stoicism, chewing slowly, as if weighing how much of himself he was willing to give.
I pushed my chair back, the legs scraping the floor harshly.
“Never mind, just f—” I started to get up, pulse pounding.
“Sit down.”
The command cracked like a whip across the kitchen. I froze, pulse leaping into my throat, my hands gripping the chair’s edge too tightly.
“Truth or dare?”
I slid back into the chair, biting back a smile that trembled with something heavier than amusement.