I didn’t want to like Stefano, not one damned bit. Unfortunately, that was kind of like not wanting to like pizza, or ice cream. Stefano was nice, and he probably tasted good, too. I really wanted to hate him for that also, but I couldn’t.Logan had not only left us with each other; he had also left us with the dishes.
“I’ll get these,” I said, grabbing as many plates as I could at one time, walking with them over to the counter, and depositing them near the sink.
“Nonsense,” Stefano said, grabbing several more than I had. “We’ll do them together.”
I know I should have insisted that he let me do them all, after all he had cooked, but between the table and the sink, there were a whole lot of dishes. Anyway, it was his house. He got to decide things like this.
As you might imagine from al
