The American Roommate Experiment (Spanish Love Deception #2)(17)

Shaking myself, I let myself in.

The moment I turned the knob, though, I second-guessed not knocking. Because what in the holy hell was I doing barging in like this? What if Lucas—

Whoa.

I stopped cold in my tracks with the door fully open, the most amazing, out-of-this-world-delicious scent hitting me like a wave.

“Rosie.” My name—off Lucas’s lips, with that roll of the R—made it through the haze. “You’re finally back.”

Blinking a couple of times, I zeroed in on him. He was standing in the kitchen of the studio, in front of the stove, with his back to me. He wore a fresh T-shirt, and his brown hair fell in a disheveled mess of wet locks. He must have showered recently, I assumed, as I could see tiny droplets of water on the back of his neck. A strong neck. And the visible skin was tanned and smooth-looking, and… and I was staring. Ogling, really.

I cleared my throat. “Hi,” I croaked. “I’m back, yes. And you’re here, like we agreed. Which is great and nothing I should be surprised about.” Cursing myself for not being able to turn off my awkwardness in front of this man who had done nothing to deserve it, I closed the door behind me and strode in. “It smells incredible in here, Lucas.”

Finally. Something normal to leave my lips.

“I’m glad you think so.” He chuckled. “I hope it tastes that way, too.”

Taking in everything already laid out on the surface of the narrow kitchen island that also served as breakfast bar, dinner table, and desk, it was hard to believe otherwise.

Like a bee drawn to a flower, my legs carried me closer, my gaze gobbling everything in awe. A plate of fragrant rice sautéed with colorful veggies sat in the middle. Something that looked like charred Feta cheese drizzled with what had to be honey was to its right. And to the left, a tray filled with slices of roasted bread spread with peppers and onions.

Another chuckle reached my ears, making me realize Lucas was no longer at the stove but on the other side of the island. Looking at me, his expression one of pure amusement. “Come on,” he said. “Have a seat before it gets cold.”

My eyes widened. “Have a… seat?”

“Where else would you eat?”

“You’re inviting me to have dinner?” I swallowed, a mix of surprise and more of that nervous giddiness making my tummy drop. “With you?”

He tilted his head to one side, studying me. “Only if you’re hungry.”

“I…” Didn’t know what to say. Which I realized happened way too often around Lucas.

Did I want to sit down and take this chance to spend more time—before we went our separate ways—with Lucas, or did I want to politely decline, pack my things, leave, and figure out a plan of action for tonight?

Before I could make up my mind, my stomach growled, providing Lucas with an answer.

I winced in horror.

“Ah.” Lucas pointed out with humor. “How the tables have turned. I think your stomach is trying to communicate with me this time around, Rosalyn Graham. And I’m taking it as a compliment.”

His smile was big and easy as he grabbed two plates from the counter and set them on the table. Then, he walked right where I was standing, stretched an arm, and pulled out the stool closer to me. He met my gaze and patted the plush surface. “You’re hungry, so it’s settled. Sit. Tell me how your dad is.”

My mouth opened, then closed.

His offer, his words, were sweet. Considerate. And in a not-so-shocking turn of events—given my long online lurking history—this was something I had fantasized about a couple dozen times. Having dinner with Lucas Martín. Dinner he had cooked. Dinner we would eat together.

But I hesitated. Standing there, not moving, except for my eyeballs, which were busy tracking Lucas’s movements as he set everything up.

“Rosie, a seat?” he repeated. “I can’t promise I won’t bite, but I will try not to.”

And my next breath got stuck in my throat for a second there.

My cheeks flushed hot while I told myself to react. To laugh it off. The man was flirty, fun, easy to be around. He was just being nice.

I opened my mouth and a boisterous, loud cackle came out.

Lucas’s eyebrows shot to the roof of his forehead.

Too much, Rosie. “That was funny.” I patted my chest, my screech still echoing in my ears. “A funny, funny joke, of course. Because you’re not going to bite me. Obviously.”

Lucas shook his head. “I’m starting to believe I’ve lost my touch,” he murmured. But when I finally let myself fall onto the stool, the frown disappeared from his face. His expression eased and turned somewhat serious. “Thank you, Rosie.”

“Why are you thanking me?” I answered, my voice thankfully getting back to normal.

He shrugged. “It’s been a while since I’ve shared a meal with someone. Traveling alone has its perks but it can also get a little lonely. I think I was beginning to feel that way. Until this morning.” He met my gaze. “And now.”

I stared into that pair of brown eyes for a few seconds, feeling something inside of me softening, melting: my hesitation, my awkwardness, and most likely, something else, too. “Thank you for inviting me to have dinner with you, Lucas. It’s really my pleasure.” And you wouldn’t believe how much, I wanted to add.