“Do you want me to do anything?” I asked Maxwell as I was standing hopelessly in the kitchen watching him reheat the pasta, we let go to waste last night because of me.
I don’t know how Maxwell can still be interested in me after last night.
“You can pour some wine if you like?” Maxwell suggested, handing me a wine bottle.
I brought up my hands turning down his offer. “I have to stay sharp and I had enough time smooching with that expensive Bordeaux last night,”
He chuckled putting the bottle away. “How did you not have a hangover this morning?” He asked, dishing up and taking the bread out from the oven.
“Oh, believe me, I was massaging the throbbing headache away with black coffee and aspirin,” I confessed.
He came over, shooting me a grin as he placed a plate down in front of
