It wasn’t that heavy. I was just holding it too tight. I shifted it to my other hand as I stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring up. I was here to make dinner for Trevor. It could be taken as so many things. Dinner between two strangers. A meal between lovers. Were we lovers? Did one night make us lovers if we were destined to repeat it again, and again, and again? If we were, I’d better have an orgasm. The last time I’d done something like this, made dinner for someone, a male someone, was almost two years ago. But I’d broken up with him months before I left Bend, and that had been the end of our cozy dinners for two. After Scott, I stopped dating. It was pointless, and I used the distance to erect a barricade around my heart. It’d already taken a beating. I couldn’t handle another one. With Trevor, there was no barricade. I hadn’t thought I might need it until it was too late. And now I was here, standing at the base of the steps, staring up.
