Bananapants: A Bonkers Romantic Comedy

“And don’t forget: I’m also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.”

— Notting Hill (1999)

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe Des would return and we’d see each other again.

And yet, I didn’t.

How many times, even in the last few weeks, had he said one thing and done another? For example, at the safe house, when I asked him to give me four hours of his time before he left.

I mean, he’d told the truth about lying right after lying. But still, he’d lied. I knew him too well. He told people what they wanted to hear and then did whatever he wanted. I couldn’t trust him to stay, could I? And that was on me. I’d known from the beginning. I’d known in the bar and in the car, in my head and on the bed.

I did like Desmond and green eggs and ham, I did like them, Ava I am.

Friday morning, I called in sick and messaged my boss that I would need to take the following week off. The time to be sad and pitiful had arrived. Our inevitable end was upon me. Let the eating of ice cream and microwave macaroni and cheese begin. Pity party commencement ceremonies would start at dawn.

Most of Friday had been spent lying in bed and crying. I ran out of tissues midway through the day and used washcloths instead. It was probably better for the environment and that made me feel a little better. But not really.

On Saturday, I ended up watching the extended versions of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. This took over twelve hours and felt like a rebellious act since Des had suggested we do it together. Well, we wouldn’t be doing it together now, would we? He’d had his chance and he blew it. TOO LATE BUDDY!

Sunday I visited my dad and we welded. I culturally appropriated like a villain and created a voodoo doll from scrap metal. Which, if I’d been thinking, was a complete waste of time. There was no way to stick voodoo Des with pins because he was, you know, made of metal. Irritating, impervious voodoo Desmond who—ironically—was exactly like real Desmond: irritating and impervious.

On Monday I cleaned the entire apartment while listening to a playlist I found where every song involved breaking up with the love of one’s life. This helped more than anything thus far. I got so deep in my feelings, I seriously considered quitting my job and becoming a songwriter. Curtis—my guard for the day—decided to stand outside the apartment rather than listen to me sing along badly to the playlist. I didn’t blame him.

When Tuesday rolled around with no word from Des, I realized I’d still been holding out hope. And you know what? That was okay. I would give myself until the end of the week. He’d said he would return by the end of the week. However, I made a deal with my heart: if Des didn’t return by the end of the week, I would forget him and move on with my life. Yes, I would be sad. Yes, it would hurt like hell and be so damn hard and I’d likely give up bread for good if I couldn’t have pumpernickel. But I would finally let Des Sullivan go, once and for all. Along with all bread. And sandwiches.

Perhaps I was being selfish and dramatic.

Okay, yes. I was being selfish and dramatic, but what did the universe want from me? This was the same guy who’d left me, brutally cut me out of his life, at fifteen. He’d broken my teenage heart into infinite pieces. His leaving now with so little notice felt like an echo of the past. A very loud echo.

My therapist always told me, “Feelings aren’t facts,” but what could I do when my feelings felt more real than facts? Despite many attempts to be a logical, rational adult and remind myself of Des’s words on the phone before he’d boarded the plane for whatever emergency work thing he had, the—hopefully irrational—anguish persisted.

But perhaps being rational about Desmond Sullivan was impossible. He’d given me the highest of highs, but that meant the cuts he left behind were always the deepest.

I trusted him about many things, but I simply did not trust him to stay with me.

So when I pulled the books down from the shelves in my apartment to dust their pages and spines—really any excuse to listen to the sad soulmate breakup love song playlist again on repeat—and my phone rang, I picked it up without thinking, figuring the caller was, as usual, a member of my immediate family.

“Hello?”

“Ava?”

I stiffened, staring at the now-empty bookshelf. “Sue?”

“Thank God. Listen, Des just got back to Chicago and he needs you.”

My heart and stomach switched places and I stood, books falling from my lap to the floor. “What? Wh—what? Where is he?”

“He—well, let’s just say, he’s hurt.” She sighed. It sounded exasperated. “I’ll text you his hotel info.”

“Oh. Okay. Okay. I⁠—”

“And Ava? Bring a first aid kit.”

Oh my God!

A spike of adrenaline had me moving without direction. Realizing that I’d been jazz-squaring in a circle, I changed direction and ran to my bedroom, but then turned around and ran toward my bag and the front door. Who cared if I hadn’t showered in days, wore stained, smelly sweatpants, and my hair resembled an albatross nest lathered in bacon grease? Des was hurt. I needed to see him as soon as possible!

“Should he go to the hospital? Should we call an ambulance?” Bag on my shoulder, I jogged to the bathroom and retrieved the first aid kit.

“He wouldn’t want that.” A beeping—like a microwave would make—followed by a rustling sound emanated from Sue’s side of the call. Not a second later, I heard her chewing something. “Do me a favor, get over there as soon as possible. Okay?”

“I—okay.” My hand on the doorknob, I strained my ears. Is she eating popcorn? Now?

“Thanks. Love ya. Bye.” She hung up before I could ask anything else.

And when I tried calling her back, an automated voice told me the number I had dialed was out of service.

“Could you go a little faster?” I leaned forward from my spot in the back seat and tapped the driver’s chair. “It’s an emergency.”

“Where do you want me to go, lady? It’s stopped. I can’t drive on the sidewalk.” The man met my eyes in the rearview mirror.

What could I do? I nodded and leaned back in the seat, biting my thumbnail and checking the clock on the dash for the millionth time.

Please be okay, please be okay.

I took a taxi to Des’s hotel. Jacob sat next to me, scowling. He’d been guarding the hallway outside my place today and wanted me to wait for Curtis to arrive with the armored SUV. I wasn’t willing to wait. Now we were basically in stop-and-go traffic and valuable minutes had turned into a half hour. Leaning to the side, I peered out the window. We were close to an “L” stop and I had to wonder if the train would be faster. Probably.

“You can let us out here.” I dug in my bag for a fifty. Finding it, I unbuckled my seat belt and placed the money on his center console. “Thanks.”

Not waiting for a response from the driver or listening to Jacob’s protests, I jumped out of the taxi and took off at a sprint for the station. I spent the next thirty minutes and two line switches ignoring Jacob’s dirty looks until we finally arrived at the station closest to the hotel. I then raced into the hotel lobby, not caring that I looked like a weirdo as I jogged to the elevators and stabbed the button repeatedly with my finger.

“Would you calm down?” Jacob stood between me and the button, forcing me to curtail my violent jabbing. Stepping closer, he leaned next to my ear and whispered, “If Desmond were seriously injured, Alex would’ve told me.”

“How would Alex know?”

Jacob, leaning back, shrugged. “He’s like the Wizard of Oz. He just knows.”

The elevator pinged. The doors opened. I ran inside and selected the button for his floor. But, in a concession to Jacob, I only pressed it once. It was the slowest elevator known to humankind and eighty-four years later, we arrived at Des’s floor.

I took off at a run, frantically searching the numbered signs and following them until I finally arrived at his room. I knocked. He didn’t answer in the first seven seconds, so I knocked again. And again. And—oh God—what if he was too injured to make it to the door and I⁠—

The door opened, revealing Des.

“Des!” I could’ve cried my relief. “Are you? You—you’re—” I looked him up and down. He wore a towel and nothing else and he seemed fine. No bruises. No cuts. No bandages. I blinked. What the hell?

Des stepped forward, but not into the hall. His hand reached out. “What are you doing here? Come⁠—”

I twisted to the side before he made contact. He was okay. I could see he was okay. He was perfectly fine. THANK GOD! I could breathe finally. Thank God he was okay. Thank God he was⁠—

Wait.

If Des was fine, why did Sue call me and tell me to bring over a first aid kit? And for that matter, why the hell hadn’t Des called me as soon as he made it back to Chicago? How long had he been in Chicago?

“Ava?”

“You’re okay?” I asked just to be certain, debating whether or not to ask him to spin in a circle and show me his back. Also, I couldn’t see from his belly button to his knees because of the towel. Perhaps his injury was on his leg? “Are you injured anywhere? Any pains of note?”

“No. I’m not injured.” His gaze flickered to the left and he gave his head a small shake, then returned his attention to me, reaching for me again.

And again I took a step back. Our back-and-forth would be a new dance craze. Expect to see it on social media and gaming platforms soon.

“Ava—”

“I thought you were hurt,” I said, nodding for no reason, my throat tightening with something like rage because he was in Chicago and he hadn’t called me.

Had he left Chicago at all? Were all his words on the phone last week lies? Had that been an act? Did he just not want to see me and a pretend work emergency had been his excuse? I couldn’t think. My insides felt hot and tight.

Des shook his head. “No.”

“Oh.” I continued nodding, like a moron. “Well then.” I kept on nodding, pretty sure if I stopped nodding I would either punch his face or burst into tears or both. “I guess . . .” Nod. Nod. Nod. “See you later.” I turned back the way I’d run and made a dash for the elevator.

Wait. Where was Jacob? He’d been right behind me.

“Ava,” Des’s voice growled.

I didn’t stop. But I also didn’t make it six steps before I felt his arms wrap around me, lift me off my feet, and carry me back to his room. I didn’t protest. I even went lax because, you know what? Fine. Also, Jacob had disappeared. It wasn’t like I could ask him for help.

I’d spent what little energy I had freaking out on the way over here. And all my energy prior to Sue’s phone call had been spent feeling sorry for myself.

Pushing away all my thorny feelings and embracing numbness so I could get through the next few minutes, I consoled myself with the fact that I smelled and looked like someone who’d been holed up in their hovel writing a manifesto. I decided my stink would be his punishment for leaving me—or lying to me about leaving—so suddenly last week. Take that, nose!

Setting me down, he closed the door and blocked my way out with his body. “Ava⁠—”

“Look.” I lifted a hand, palm up and out like a stop sign. “Sue told me you were injured and that I should rush over here with a first aid kit. So here I am. But you’re not injured, so, whatever.”

Des’s eyes moved over me, likely taking in my greasy hair and stained sweats. Again, whatever. Let my pity party costume be my armor of apathy.

Eventually, I said, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

His eyes cut to mine and he lifted an eyebrow. “What’s going on? Have you been sick?”

“Yes.”

His features softened and he took a step forward. “You have? Are you okay? Did you see a doctor?”

“I see my therapist this Friday. We have loads to talk about,” I deadpanned, glaring at him.

Des sighed. “Are you still mad at me?”

“Yes,” I said, letting the first aid kit fall to the floor, and as it fell my anger resurged. “And you know what? You know what pisses me off the most?”

“Tell me.” Looking at me with his round, puppy dog eyes and adorable, small smile, I hated that his voice held a hint of resignation but also happiness. Why is he so happy?

The happiness confused me, but it was the resignation in him that deflated my fury, leaving me with extreme sadness. And it hurt. A lot. “I have no right to be mad. That’s what pisses me off the most.” I admitted quietly.

Why was he doing this to me? If he didn’t want to see me anymore, why lie about leaving for a work emergency? And why did Sue call and lie about him being injured? And why drag me back to his hotel room now?

Does any of that matter?

No. It didn’t matter. The time had come. But this time, for real.

“Why don’t you have a right to be mad?” He sounded curious and shuffled a bit closer.

Our inevitable end was upon us. Even if he did have a real work emergency and had left last week, even if that hadn’t been a lie, he was back in town now and he hadn’t called. I needed to set boundaries for my own sanity and self-esteem. This was it.

“Because I have no claim on you.” I forced the truth out. “You owe me nothing. We’re not even friends. We just knew each other once, a long time ago, and we get along well. Really, really, really well. And that’s it.” My voice cracked on the last word and I turned my face to the side. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

In my peripheral vision, I saw him move closer. “Ava⁠—”

“Don’t.” I held a hand up, another stop sign.

He didn’t step back but he didn’t venture closer either, and that made me laugh because it was an allegory for us, what we were doing to each other. Someone needed to step back or venture closer. But Grace had been right. This in-between crap hurt. I’d tried to reason with myself and be happy with whatever he was willing to give, live in the moment, go on the adventure, enjoy the journey, blah blah blah.

But I wasn’t built that way, and I needed to stop torturing myself. Inhaling deeply through my nose, I set my hands on my hips and faced him. Gone was his small smile, but the puppy dog eyes remained. Watching me.

I prepared to leave this hotel room with a brand-new broken heart, splintered into infinite pieces. This time, I would stop trying to mend it or shape it into something that wasn’t possible.

Goodbye pumpernickel! Goodbye bread! Fare thee well sandwiches!

“Here’s the deal, Des. I love you. I’m in love with you. I think I’ve been in love with you since we were teenagers. So I need us to stop doing this thing—whatever it is, the lessons—and just let each other go, once and for all.”

His eyes seemed to widen and grow panicked as I spoke, his focus turning inward, like he was working to quickly absorb my words, make sense of them. I guess I’d surprised him? Maybe? Oh well.

But I would save him the trouble of responding. I’d make this real easy.

“Actually, I take that back. I need to let you go. It’s my problem, always has been. And so, I will.” I nodded once. “Goodbye, Des. Thank you for being my person. I really, really hope your life is beyond awesome. But I can’t see you again because it hurts too much. My feelings are too big. But they’re my problem, not yours. Goodbye.”

Stepping to the side before the avalanche of threatening tears that had made my voice and chin wobbly during my brave speech turned into body-racking sobs, I moved to walk around him for the door. He mirrored me, effectively blocking my path. Again.

Des grabbed me, his hands too fast for me to avoid. “Ava. Listen to me. Please.”

I closed my eyes and shook my head. I needed to leave. I didn’t want to cry in the hotel room bathroom of the only man I’d ever loved, who I continually allowed to reject me, and who I didn’t trust. I wanted to cry in a hotel lobby bathroom stall downstairs like a normal person.

“I love you,” he said.

Imma gonna kill him! I suspected he was going to try to let me down gently and that was the last thing I wanted from him. Maybe he loved me as a friend or a fellow human, but he wasn’t in love with me, obviously. If he was in love with me, he would’ve called upon returning to Chicago.

I scrunched my face and, in my rage, hastily formed a plan. If he tried to let me down gently, I would knee him in the balls. He was fast and nimble on his feet, but he probably wouldn’t see a knee to the balls coming in time to block it.

“Did you hear me? Open your eyes.” His fingers squeezed my arms. “Please.”

I shook my head and pressed my lips together to seal them. He must’ve forgotten with whom he was dealing. I wasn’t just patient, I was the most stubborn.

“Fine. Then I’ll tell you like this.” He sounded frustrated, and he tugged me closer. “I’ve loved you since before I can remember. I’ve always loved you. And you talk about your feelings being too big, and I get that”—he shook me a little, a slight tremor—“because my feelings for you have always, always, always felt that way.”

Wait. What?

Giving me no time to process, he let me go then immediately picked me up, an arm under my legs, another behind my back. My eyes flew open as he literally swept me off my feet.

“Where—where are we going?” My head pivoted and I searched the room. Actually, it wasn’t a mere room. It was a suite and it was big, with a giant sitting area and wet bar.

“To the bed.”

My eyes shot to his face and I found him looking at me, his features set, determined.

“The bed?” I croaked.

“Or the shower, if you want.”

I didn’t kick or wiggle in case he had an injury I couldn’t see and he’d been lying about not being hurt. But I needed to think. “What? No! Wait⁠—”

“And you’re wrong. You do have a claim on me. You always have.”

We’d made it to the bedroom and he placed me in the center of the bed. As I sat up, Des leaned away and dropped his towel, then immediately returned and climbed over me, his mouth coming to mine just as I’d opened it to protest.

Or not protest, actually.

More like, I’d opened it to ask follow-up questions. I had so many.

Des kissed me, making me dizzy, his kiss so hungry and yet so cherishing at the same time. His hand moved under my sweater, caressing my stomach and side. Another hand slipped inside the waistband of my sweatpants and underwear, grabbing my bottom, and an alert sounded in my brain.

“Wait! Wait.” I pushed his chest—and therefore him—back so I could see his face. “Wait. I—I need to think!”

Des nodded but didn’t remove his hands from my body, asking, “Does this bra fasten in the front or the back?”

“Oh. The back.” Automatically, I sat up straighter so he could reach it. “But it’s tricky and you have to⁠—”

He unfastened it with one hand, because of course he did.

“Well, never mind. You got it. Anyway.” I huffed, staring at him while I attempted to find my bearings.

Stare affixed to mine, waiting, watchful, I gradually became aware that—while kneeling in front of me on the bed—he was undressing me. Slowly. His eyes were hypnotizing, so I wasn’t surprised he’d already removed my sweater, shirt, and bra before I’d realized what he’d done.

“Wait!” I grabbed his wrists but was careful to keep my elbows tucked close to my sides. As I might’ve mentioned, I hadn’t showered in days. Or used deodorant. So, yeah. “Wait.”

He nodded and I did a double take. His gaze felt like a whole universe as he continued staring down at me. I suspected this was the first time he’d allowed me to see it. My heart ached. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to get lost in his eyes. I wanted him.

But first I needed to arrange the puzzle pieces in my head. He said he’d always loved me. What did that mean, precisely? And⁠—

“When did you get back to Chicago? And why didn’t you call me as soon as you were back?” I squinted at him and covered my chest.

“My secure phone is busted and, honestly, I was filthy. I hadn’t showered since the day we last spoke on the phone. You know how I used to have that thing about germs when we were kids? If I don’t shower, it’s like a scratch I can’t itch that gets worse with time.”

“I remember the germ thing, but you didn’t call because you were dirty?” I reached for my shirt and covered my torso. I needed to stay focused and being shirtless in front of a naked Des wasn’t helping with my ability to focus.

“No. Listen. It wasn’t like that.” He heaved a short, frustrated-sounding sigh. “My guy picked me up from the airport and I thought about using his phone to call you, but I get nervous contacting you on a line that might be traced back to Raziel. Instead, I used his phone to contact Sue and asked her to call you on a secure line and let you know I was back. I don’t know why she said I was injured. But, I swear, I literally stepped in the door here five minutes before you arrived, jumped in the shower, and had just lifted the phone receiver”—he gestured to the hotel phone on the side table next to the bed—“to call you when you knocked on the door.”

I continued squinting at him. His explanation seemed reasonable.

Before I could speak, Des added, “I know I’ve been an asshole in the past but, Jesus Christ, Ava. I wouldn’t—I won’t—lie to you. I said I would only tell you the truth from now on when I apologized about keeping you in the dark regarding Henri’s gifts. I meant it. I will never lie to you. And when you didn’t believe I would return to Chicago, I guess maybe I deserved that. Maybe I did. But what will it take for you to trust me now? What can I do to make up for the past? Please tell me. If you don’t believe me about the emergency, about why I had to leave last week, you can call Alex right now and ask him where I’ve been.” His words were clipped, shaded with hurt and frustration.

“I don’t need to call Alex,” I said. I did believe him now that he’d spelled everything out. And I did feel a little foolish—or a lot foolish—about my dramatics over the weekend. But I was a fool. For Des, I was one hundred percent, manufactured in the USA, a fool.

And despite his flashing eyes, and obvious hurt, I wasn’t finished with my questions. If he actually loved me, he owed me more explanations!

“Okay then,” I began primly. “Please explain, what did you mean exactly, when you said you’ve always lo⁠—”

“I’m in love with you.” His words were toneless but his eyes were fierce. “I’ve been in love with you since we were teenagers.” His fingers tucked my hair behind my ears with gentle movements entirely at odds with the heat of his stare. “And I didn’t know what to do. What I felt for you, it felt too big. And you—at least I thought—you only saw me as a friend back then.”

“Oh,” I breathed the word and needed to swallow this information before responding. When I did, I nodded. “That’s fair. I thought I only saw you as a friend too. You were right and I was wrong. As it turns out, I saw you as much more than a friend, but I didn’t know—or I couldn’t understand what my feelings were because I was so young. I thought wanting to spend the rest of my life with you was perfectly acceptable because we were best friends.”

He looked like he was on the precipice of saying something, but I wasn’t finished.

“You need to apologize to me, though. You need to apologize for leaving me when we were teenagers. If you loved me, how could you leave me like that and hurt me the way you did? I was completely devastated, did you know that? Did you have any idea?”

Des seemed to deflate and his chin fell to his chest. “You’re right. I am so sorry I hurt you back then. I was—” He shook his head and lifted his gaze to mine. Gone were all traces of frustration, leaving behind contrition. “I did love you then. I also had to leave. I both hope and dread that one day you’ll understand why. In the meantime, know that I am sorry I hurt you. I never want to hurt you.”

My eyes stung as I stared at him. It felt like the old cut had finally been cleaned and now it could heal. Sincere apologies were straight-up magic.

“Ava,” he said, his tone anguished, his eyes moving between mine. “Please don’t cry.”

I sniffled, grinning even as the tears gathered and blurred my vision. “I’m so happy right now, Des. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy. Not even when I found that winning lottery ticket when I was five.” I shifted up and to my knees, dropping the shirt I’d been holding clutched to my chest, and catching his hands to entwine our fingers. “I’m so in love with you, and I have all these feelings for you and they make me want to do things for you, and to you, and with you, and I didn’t think I’d ever be able to do anything with them so thank you.”

“Thank you?” One side of his mouth hitched. The universe and stars behind his gaze sparkled anew.

“Yes. Thank you for letting me love you. And thank you for loving me back.”

He shook his head at me. “Ava, you have it backwards. Don’t you know? I wanted to, want to, spend the rest of my life with you. Even then. But I also wanted to touch you.” Slowly, Des pulled one hand out of my grip, lowered it to my body, and settled his long fingers on my side above the waistband of my sweatpants. “Very badly.”

My stomach awoke, now alive with lovely, swirling, delighted butterflies. Even so, I grabbed his wrist to keep him from wandering. This possibility of wandering hands, both his and mine, made me realize we needed to get our priorities straight.

“Yay! I’m glad we cleared that up, but—real fast—I need a shower.” I grimaced. “That’s a fact, which I know I can count on you to understand. Thus, the order of events will be as follows: Assuming we’re both on the same page now, and like the page we’re on, I’ll shower. Then and only then, playing the piccolo. Okay?”

His lips firmed. He was trying not to laugh. “Okay,” he drawled. “But you promised no nonsense euphemisms.” Des bent forward, holding my gaze for as long as possible, then brushed his nose against mine, his voice deepening. “How about we call it what it is instead of making up absurd names for it?”

“And what is it?”

“Fucking,” he said, matter-of-factly, leaning back to gaze at me.

I had to swallow again, every organ inside my body wanting to rearrange itself in an impromptu game of hot Twister—which is like hot yoga but with a higher likelihood of injury—my neck and cheeks flared with heat.

“We’re going to fuck, Ava.” His attention dropped to my lips and he added softly, “And we’ll also make love.”

“Are they different?” My voice arrived squeaky for some reason.

“Yes,” Des whispered darkly, studying my face as he spoke, like he was memorizing it or mesmerized by it. “And I’m very happy to teach you the difference as many times as you need, but this isn’t a trade. Let’s be clear, I am yours, and you are mine, and you can and should get mad at me. You have every right. You should tell me what you want and expect that I’ll give it to you. I want to give it to you. Do you understand?” He’d shifted closer as he spoke, the stars in his eyes becoming celestial events, fiery and nebulous.

I was afraid if I spoke—or tried to—I’d throw myself at him instead of showering. But we had a plan. We needed to stick to the plan. Thus, I could only nod because I was so turned on.

“Good,” he said. “And do you agree? That I am yours and you are mine?”

I nodded again instead of obnoxiously squealing with happiness, because I am an adult.

“Good.” Des twisted his wrist gently and forced me to release his other hand. “I will be staying in Chicago for as long as you want me here. I will not tell you what you want to hear and then do whatever I want. I will not lie to you. I’m retiring from the business, I’m done. And you and I will figure out what this all means together. Your opinion counts as much as mine. Demand and expect everything from me. Okay?”

I kept on nodding, my heart dancing.

The heat in his eyes became something else, something sober and maybe sad. “We also have to talk about my bipolar and ADHD and what they mean for us moving forward. Please know, I’m willing to give you as much or as little of myself as you want. I know it can be a lot⁠—”

“I want everything!” I blurted, grabbing his shoulders. “I want everything. I want to know everything so I’m not ignorant. And I can learn from books or videos, or—or I can⁠—”

Des cut me off with a kiss. A wonderful press of his lips that made the game of hot Twister in my body go wild.

“We’ll see.” He shifted his head away. “One day at a time, okay?”

I opened my mouth to protest. I was all in, I’d been all in from the beginning. But he cut me off again.

“It’s like Dungeons and Dragons. Don’t commit to playing until you know how the mail system works.”

I scowled. I was never going to live that down.

He smiled, open and honest. It was his goofy smile, like he found my frown hilarious. “Hey. It can be enough for now that we both want to be together, that we belong to each other as well as ourselves. What that looks like, time will tell. It’s all up for negotiation.”

My frown eased. But he was so⁠—

He’s so . . .

“You’re so logical,” I grumped, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I love this pouty face you make.” Des seemed distracted by my mouth and cupped my face. He moved his thumb back and forth against my bottom lip. “I also hate it.”

That made me lift an eyebrow. “What? Why do you hate it?”

He opened his mouth as though to say something, but then immediately snapped it shut. “Go take a shower.”

“Tell me. Why do you love it and hate it?”

“Shower first.”

I reached for his arm as he evaded me and moved to stand at the side of the bed. “Tell me.”

Des did something swift and magical to avoid my grasping fingers, his arms and hands so fast they were a blur.

I was about protest again, but he scooped me up—another bridal carry position—and marched us toward the door off the bedroom, which I assumed led to the bathroom.

“I can walk, you know.”

He nuzzled my ear, whispering, “I like holding you.”

I sent him a side-eye. “Then tell me why you both love and hate my pouty face.”

“How about I show you?” he asked, smirking. “But after a shower.”

“A shower? Didn’t you already shower?”

“You get clean first”—he gave me a quick kiss and grinned—“then we’ll get dirty together.”