QUOTE : Shit.” He suddenly sets down the carver. “You know what I need?” “What?” “An apron.” He disappears into the pantry adjacent to the kitchen then sticks his head out. “Do you want one too?” Lord. Can I handle him in an apron? “Um, sure.” Tripp is pulling one over his neck when he walks back out, a basic black canvas getup he’s tying around his waist. Has an identical one for me. Standing in front of me, mere inches away, he slides the thin straps over my head, pulls it down and sizes it. Creates a fold in front so it’s not too long, then slides his arms behind my back, loops it around once, and ties it in a bow at my belly button. “Well then. Aren’t you fucking adorable.” He leans forward, kissing me on the tip of the nose. What the what has gotten into him? What the hell is in this wine?