The Chemistry of Love(84)

The rest of the evening flew by, and it was like I couldn’t keep my eyes off Marco. Things had shifted between us. He was touching me constantly—he either had an arm around me or he was holding my hand. I loved every second of it, and more than anything, I wanted to ask him if he wanted to do a little bit more scientific research.

He drove me home, and we didn’t really speak in the car. Not because I didn’t have anything to say. I had too much to say and didn’t know what to do. I needed some time to process.

We walked up to my front door, and I expected to say good night to him after I unlocked it. But he turned the handle as if he planned on going inside.

“That may not be a good idea,” I said as I stepped into the foyer.

He flexed his hands and then put them in his pockets. “Still haven’t vacuumed up the glitter?”

“I have!” I said indignantly. I hadn’t, though. “It’s just my grandparents aren’t home.”

He raised both eyebrows. “Oh?”

Why was that single syllable so sexy? “Yes.”

Marco looked over his shoulder and said, “There might be a photographer out there with a long-range lens. I should come inside for a little bit. I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

“Okay.” I nodded, letting him come in and then closing the door behind him. Which was a huge mistake given that he was taking up all the space around us and I had to touch him to shut the door.

I thought of how at ease he seemed in my home and how much Craig probably wouldn’t have been. Craig was a tame peacock. An exotic bird, full of gorgeous plumage and meant to be admired, kept as a pet and hand-fed. Marco was a wild hawk, out there getting the job done, strong and fierce. Going after what he wanted.

I had started to wish that I was the one he wanted.

We were alone. Well, mostly alone. The birds were all calling from the other room. “You should know, though, that the last time a guy came over while my grandparents were gone, it led to a bird maiming.”

“Someone maimed a bird?”

“No. My grandpa was helping rehabilitate a goose named Geese Witherspoon, and she went after Richie because she didn’t like anyone besides my grandfather. I had to take him to the hospital. We didn’t go out again.”

“Really? Maybe she went after him because he’s a grown man using the name Richie.”

“It wasn’t that.” Everything I was saying was unimportant, but Marco looked at me like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard. It made my stomach feel like it was about to float away. “Geese are terrible jerks. They sound like a deranged french horn and will kick you like a mule and bite like a snake. They don’t want you to feed them bread. They want to steal your wallet and your life.”

“So I should steer clear of geese.”

“Unless you want them to protect your castle. They’re better than guard dogs.”

“I’ll let security know,” he said with a smile.

“Wait. Does your family have a castle?” That might be a game changer.

“No. Just homes bigger than most castles.”

“Aw. Because if you were a secret prince, it would make our fake relationship a lot more fun.” And very rom-com tropey.

Something flashed in his eyes, but he said, “Sorry, I can’t make you the next princess of Monterra.”

“Bummer.”

That felt like a natural conclusion to our evening. He’d been inside for a bit, and he should go because I really, really wanted to kiss him again, and I had so little pride left at this point that I was desperate to hang on to it.

“Why are all the birds named after famous people?” he asked. And again I might have been projecting, but it felt like he was asking not because he really wanted to know but because he didn’t want to go.

But to be fair, that kiss of his had seriously scrambled my brain, and I didn’t feel like I was operating on all cylinders yet.

“My grandpa. My grandmother doesn’t have much patience for things she considers frivolous, but he’s always loved pop culture. Half the time when he’s reading his newspaper, he’s actually going through his recent copy of Us Weekly.”

Marco laughed at that, and I thought of how much I enjoyed sharing things with him.

“And because my grandma is unaware, she has no idea who the birds are named after. I think my grandpa does it because it amuses him to hear her yell Jimmy Talon, and then he’ll add something like star of The Tonight Show under his breath.”

He laughed again and leaned forward, like he intended to come closer. We stood there, gazing at each other intently, and I didn’t care what was right or rational and just wanted to kiss him again.

But then he announced, “I should probably get going. I’ll call you about the Vermont thing.”

Before I could answer, he opened the front door and was on the porch, heading down the front walk.

He wasn’t going to kiss me again. My inner voice reminded me that he’d said he’d keep his hands to himself.

Stupid Marco always doing what he said he would.

When he reached the end of the walk close to the driveway, he turned and said, “Hey, Anna?”

“Yeah?”

“In case you didn’t know, the ugly duckling never had to change. She just needed to figure out that she’d been a swan all along.” He paused, like he was waiting for a response. When he didn’t get one, he said, “Good night.”