A shower with Gael? Hell yes.

From his chest down to his abs, Angela raked over his torso, taking in each plane of his muscles and the ink covering his ribs and arms. She had thought about getting a tattoo when she was younger; now she wanted to match his.

Running her tongue along her bottom lip, she watched as he walked towards her. He scanned her body like he was undressing her with his eyes.

A sly smile cast on her face when she took a step back, increasing the gap between them. "You want to join me in my shower?"

"Is there a problem?" he asked, though his tone wasn't that of an inquiry—it sounded more like a demand. Like, 'Why the fûck not?' His imaginary dominant voice rang in her ear. She shivered as her back hit the cold door to her bedroom.

She shrugged. "You can…"

His brows knitted, and his steps slowed down. "But?"

"But you can't touch me."

As soon as the words left her lips, she slapped herself mentally. 'What the hell are you doing? Let him touch you!' her inner voice yelled at her. She became mentally deaf and shut her out.

Angela didn't know why she was suddenly holding back—probably because she didn't drink today. But was that really the only reason? She couldn't tell.

'Sure, Angela. Go shower together with him. What are you gonna do inside? Hold hands and pray?' her bitchy inner voice scoffed at her.

As if that wasn't enough, the 'Angela in her head' used a megaphone to scream her inner desires. 'You're already going to shower together...might as well climb on top of him and fûck his brains out while you're at it. You like singing in the shower, and he has a microphone! It's a friggin' match made in heaven! What the fudge are you waiting for?'

"I can't touch you?" Gael cocked a brow. "Are you sure you can handle that?"

She lifted a shoulder. "My house, my rules."

'Right. Just say you're scared. No need to make any excuses,' said the voice, sounding like she just rolled her eyes at her.

This time, Angela believed it. She was indeed scared. There was no doubt she wanted Gael—probably as much as he wanted her—maybe even more. But what if everything changed after that? Where they were at the moment felt so nice, she didn't want it to end. Oh, how she wished they'd just stay like this. She didn't want to ruin this phase.

Just as there were two feet away from each other, the intercom buzzed, making their heads turn. She was certainly not expecting anyone tonight. So who could it be?

"Who's that?" Gael asked when he peeked at the screen. A middle-aged woman wearing an apron held a white pan covered with foil with her glove-covered hands.

Angela pushed a button on the panel. "Who is it?"

"Hello, dear. This is Mrs. Michaelson, your new neighbor from next door? I baked some casserole and thought you might like it," said the woman.

"Oh… She's the wife of that deacon you met today," Angela told Gael.

Walking towards the door, she opened it and was greeted by a wide-smiled Mrs. Michaelson. "Hi, Mrs. Michaelson. That's so sweet of you. You didn't have to."

"This is nothing, dear. We're going to be neighbors now, and we can be a bit loud sometimes. So I'm paying you off with good food in advance." She softly laughed. "This is one of my mother's recipes. It's creamy chicken quinoa and broccoli. I hope you eat vegetables."

"Oh, wow. Thanks a lot. Please come in." Angela opened the door wider, forgetting that Gael was still in the hallway topless and hot. She didn't fail to see the older woman's eyes widen at the sight of his shirtless and glorious body.

"I-I apologize if I interrupted your evening. You and your husband must have been busy," said Mrs. Michaelson as she hesitantly entered the apartment.

"Ah, this is Gael—"

"It's nice to meet you." Gael stepped forward to shake hands with the older woman, cutting off Angela—possibly intentionally. Then he wrapped an arm around Angela's waist. "It's okay. We just finished working out and were about to shower." He winked.

The devil winked as if implying something.

He didn't even correct Mrs. Michaelson when she said 'husband'!

Well, Angela didn't correct her either, so…

Of course, she didn't hate that thought—plus his warm, possessive arm around her? She just melted.

"I can see you two are still in your honeymoon phase. I get it. I'll just put this in your kitchen, and I'll be out of your hair." Mrs. Michaelson blushed as she smiled and placed the dish on the kitchen island.

"That smells delicious, Mrs. Michaelson." Angela lifted the cover from the pan, and steam came out from the golden-colored top. The melted cheese was browned on top, and there were pops of green from the broccoli.

"I can assure you that it tastes as good as it looks!" replied the other.

Gael, feeling so at home, grabbed a fork, scooped a piece from the dish, and then shoved it into his mouth. "Mmm… You're not kidding about this."

Looking so proud, Mrs. Michaelson's smile reached her ears. She leaned towards Angela and whispered, "He likes it. I'll slip the recipe under your door."

A small chuckle escaped Gael's lips. He was probably reminded of a certain kitchen incident. Angela elbowed his side, rolling her eyes at his annoyingly attractive smile.

"I think he doesn't want me to cook. I almost burned down his kitchen once," shared Angela, biting her bottom lip in embarrassment.

"Oh, my!" Mrs. Michaelson covered her mouth, her eyes looking so amused. Then she laughed it off. "That reminds me of when I started to learn how to cook. I kid you not, I didn't know how to cook before I got married, and my husband didn't know. We used to eat out, you see. He doesn't cook either, so for weeks, we lived off eating instant ramen until I got so sick of it that I decided to learn the first dish. I made meatball spaghetti."

"How was it?" Angela wondered.

"It was awful. The meat was overcooked, the pasta was soggy, and the sauce… oh my! I made so much sauce that it nearly looked like it was tomato soup with bits of pasta!" Mrs. Michaelson laughed at the memory. She looked delighted recalling that day even though it was disastrous like she said.

"What happened then? What did your husband say?"

"He still ate it without complaints. Well, he should, or he'd go hungry if he didn't eat anything that night." Mrs. Michaelson placed a hand over Angela's, patting it as if she was a mother patting her daughter. "Don't worry about just starting. Cooking is a skill just like walking. Babies start to crawl at first before they learn how to walk, don't they?"

"I guess…" Angela smiled, loving the warmth from her callous hands. It only proved that this woman was hardworking. She then looked up at Gael, and he kissed her forehead.

Just when she thought he'd say something sweet, he went and said, "Let's first make sure the fire alarms are installed properly, move the extinguisher closer, and locate all the fire exits."

Her jaw dropped. He's so annoying! "Hey!" She playfully slapped his chest, causing him to laugh as he caught her wrist.

"You two are so adorable," commented Mrs. Michaelson. "Well, I should leave you two love birds be. Enjoy the food. If you need anything, we're just next door." She waved her hand and turned towards the front door.

"Mrs. Michaelson, wait!" Angela called her back.

"Darling, please call me Anne."

"Okay… Anne, what about your pan? I'll just move the dish to another plate. I'll wash it quickly so that you can bring it back with you now."

Anne looked at the white rectangular ceramic pan on the island, and the corners of her lips turned upward. "You know what? Keep it. It's been with me for years, and I have plenty already. You can use it when you decide to bake your first casserole."

Angela's heart warmed at the generosity and kindness of this woman. "Are you sure? I—"

Anne patted the other's arm and reassured, "I'm sure. It's a gift. Just take care of it. And like I said, we're a bit loud, so forgive me if we ever disturb you two."

Angela nodded, thanking her once again as she saw her out the door.

"That was nice of her," said Gael as they walked back to the kitchen. "Are you still on that food delivery service?" he asked, pulling her towards him and trapping her between him and the kitchen island behind her.

She shook her head, letting herself bask in his warm skin. She couldn't help but place her hands on his chest. "I had it suspended. Why?"

"Just curious. Home-cooked meals are better. Thought you might want to learn an easy one… I can ask Alice."

"Why? You don't like my special salty scrambled eggs anymore?" She drew her brows together, making him chuckle.

"Nothing beats that, but you can't eat only that. You need more—"

The intercom buzzed again. They turned to look at the panel simultaneously and saw Oliver on the screen.

What now?