Michael almost dropped his fruit, and his voice was gruff with horror when he said, “Mẹ.”

She shrugged innocently.

“You don’t have to answer that,” he said to Stella.

She met his eyes like she hadn’t with everyone else. Her facial muscles relaxed, but the intensity of her concentration didn’t. Her beautiful mind focused on him. Michael admitted to himself he loved it.

Stella lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know if I like babies. I haven’t been around that many. My parents want grandchildren, though. My mother, mostly.”

“That has to be why she keeps setting up blind dates for you,” Michael said.

Stella nodded. “I think so.”

“Meddling mothers.”

At his comment, Stella’s lips curved into a smile, and her eyes shined. He forgot what they’d been talking about. If he couldn’t kiss her soon, he would go mad.

“When you get to my age,” his mom said, crossing her arms over her chest, “you want to play with babies. It’s natural.”

Sophie jumped to her feet. “Help me with the dishes, Stella?”

“Sure, I’d love to help,” Stella said. “Is there a particular way you do it?”

“Just whatever way gets them clean.”

Evie cleared the table as Sophie and Stella piled things into the sink. His mom and Ngoại stared at him with serious expressions. He braced himself for something bad.

“She won me at the shop today. It’s important to know how to admit when you’re wrong. You should keep her,” Mẹ said in Vietnamese.

He shook his head and thinned his lips. “It’s not that easy.”

“Why?”

“We’re too different. She’s really smart and makes loads of money.”

“You’re smart,” his mom insisted.

He rolled his eyes.

“You’re not like your dad wanted, but that doesn’t mean you’re not smart. And you don’t make as much because you’re busy helping me at the shop. I told you I don’t need you anymore. You let so many opportunities pass because of me. I don’t want that for you, Michael, and I don’t want you to lose this girl, either. She’s a good one. Keep her.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is. She likes you. You like her.”

If he had less control, he would have pointed out his mom’s relationship with his dad, but that was hitting below the belt. His dad loved his mom—in his own way. But he also loved cheating. Michael would never understand why his mom took his dad back every single time.

“Just promise to try, all right? I like this one,” his mom said.

Michael could have laughed. Of all the girls he’d ever brought home, she liked the one he couldn’t have. His client. His rich, highly educated, beautiful client, who was paying him to help her learn how to get someone better.

“You’re just saying that because she’s doing dishes.”

Michael knew the way to his mom’s heart, and it wasn’t food. It was cleaning, doing dishes. He didn’t have to do dishes because he cooked. For whatever reason, none of the women in this house cooked. He’d had to learn in order to survive.

“She doesn’t mind working,” his mom said. “That’s important.”

“Mmmmm,” Ngoại agreed.

For a moment, the three of them watched as Stella washed bowls, rinsed them, and handed them to Sophie to dry. She’d rolled her sleeves up and worked with great attention, listening and smiling distractedly as Sophie chatted with her.

“Take her home,” Ngoại said. “She looks tired.”

His mom nodded. “Take her home.”

He pushed away from the table and went to wrap his arms around Stella’s waist. Because he couldn’t resist, he ran his lips down her neck so she shivered. The soapy sponge paused in midscrub, and her expression was confused as she gazed at him over her shoulder. He slid a hand down her delicate forearm and hijacked the sponge from her. He finished washing the frying pan and the rest of the dishes with her in front of him, occasionally pausing to kiss her ear, her neck, or her jaw.

Sophie slanted him a go get a room look as he handed her the last colander—one of many that he’d made his mom promise never to stick in the microwave again—and he could tell she was dying to say something dry and caustic but was holding back because she didn’t want to embarrass Stella.

Stella’s eyelids had gone heavy, and her nails dug into the tile counter as she tried unsuccessfully not to respond to him.

“Ready to go home?” he whispered.

She nodded.

They said their good-byes and piled into Stella’s car, and he pressed the Tesla’s on button.

Before Stella could buckle her seat belt, he asked, “What are you seeing in terms of living arrangements and frequency of visits?”

“What do most couples do when they’re in committed relationships?”

“They live together, and they see each other every day. Is that what you want?” It was strange hearing himself say the words out loud. These were things he’d spent his entire adult life avoiding, but with Stella, he might be ready for them. If she wanted them, too.

She rubbed her cheek on her shoulder. “I want that, then. I have a guest bedroom you can use. But if you’re uncomfortable staying with me, I understand. Not all couples live in the same house.”

“What if I want to share your bed, Stella?” he asked in a low tone.

Despite how much he wanted to help her and prove he wasn’t his dad, he wasn’t sure he could do this if sex was off the table. He wanted her too much. Besides, most of her problems stemmed from lack of confidence. Bed was a great place to work on that.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said.

“That wasn’t the question. I know I don’t have to.”

Staring out the passenger window, she said, “My bed is open to you if you want it, but you know where my skill levels are at. That hasn’t changed since our last time together.”

He smiled at that. She sounded worried about pleasing him. Something his clients almost never cared about.

“Let’s seal the deal.”

“Oh, all right.” She pulled a hand out from under her thigh and held it out toward him.

“We’re going into a practice relationship. I think we should kiss on it.”

She locked eyes with him as her lips parted in surprise, and that was all the invitation he needed. Leaning across the center divide, he kissed her. He meant for it to be a seductive, slowly enflaming kind of kiss, but the sighing sound she made drove him straight out of his mind. He took her mouth with hungry strokes of his tongue. She wound her fingers through his hair, scraped them down his chest and abdomen, and tucked them into his jeans. Yes. Finally, they could get back to checking boxes—

Knuckles rapped against the driver’s-side window. A muffled voice spoke incoherent words.

He launched himself back into his seat before powering the window down.

Sophie crossed her arms and tapped her bare foot on the pavement before she bent down, narrowed her eyes, and clearly mouthed the word pervert at him. “Mom wanted me to remind you your headlights are lighting up Ngoại’s room so she can’t sleep.”

“Sorry, forgot. We’ll head home now.”

Peering into the car, she said, “Good night, Stella. Hope we see you again soon.”

Stella swiped at the loose hairs falling over her face and cleared her throat with a cough. “Good night, Sophie.”

Sophie sent him one last reproving look and sauntered back into the house. Seconds later, his phone lit up with rapid text messages from Sophie.

Geez Michael, go easy on her.

You’ll scare her away, and we all really like her.

Honestly, in the DRIVEWAY? What are you, 13?

He choked on a laugh and handed the phone to Stella so she could read the messages.

She bit down on the tip of a fingernail as she grinned. “I’m not scared.”

He ran a hand through his hair, took a deep breath, and adjusted the painfully stiff flesh rising against his fly. “Let’s get you home.”

He drove with gratuitous disregard of the law through the empty residential streets, envisioning himself peeling her librarian clothes off and pinning her against the wall, the floor—he didn’t care where.

It was going to be so good with Stella, spectacular even. He was going to—he glanced at Stella, trying to decide what to do first, and his hopes plummeted. He was going to carry her into her house and put her to bed.

In the scant minutes since they’d left his mom’s, she’d fallen fast asleep. Her head lolled to the side, and her glasses sat on her nose at a crooked angle. She didn’t so much as flinch when her garage cranked open and her tires squeaked over the epoxy floor.

He tried to shake her awake, but she didn’t react. Her breathing remained deep and even, her body relaxed. With a sigh, he lifted her out of the car and headed toward her bedroom—their bedroom as of tonight.

15

Stella awakened by slow degrees. She registered the sunlight on her face, the distant barking of a neighborhood dog, and Michael’s delicious smell. It was all around her, warm and concentrated, and she burrowed into the sheets with a happy sigh.

A heavy weight over her side kept her from rolling the sheets around her like a burrito, and she frowned. What was that? She lifted the blankets and stared in shock at the muscular arm wrapped around her waist. Her naked waist. She’d slept in her bra and panties last night.

And she hadn’t gone through her night routine. She was covered in nastiness. Her mouth. It was probably forming an ecosystem for antibiotic-resistant strains of bacteria. She shot up in bed, her entire being focused on running straight to the bathroom. Floss, brush, shower, pajamas. Floss, brush, shower, pajamas.