A few hours later, I had deemed the house clean and suitable for Negan's first official visit. A part of me was still spinning from his unofficial visit the night before, my nerves building at the thought of being in my house with him completely alone. Cameron had been picked up by one of our old band mates about an hour ago and was going to stay at his place for the night. He seemed happy to hang out with a friend, despite his constant reminder that he would be back tomorrow afternoon, so I wouldn't have to worry about him walking in on Negan and I.

After Cameron had left me totally embarrassed and somehow even more nervous, I jumped in the shower, washed and shaved my legs and other areas meticulously, and upon getting out, deemed myself suitably groomed. Leaving the bathroom, I went to my bedroom to choose something to wear, which was a daunting task in itself. What do I wear on a date in my own house, I wondered. I had decided on being comfortable, putting on a pair of skinny jeans and a form fitting black deep v-neck sweater that did wonders for my chest. Going back into the bathroom, I combed out my hair and left it down, my natural waves looking like I had put more effort into them than I really had. Figuring out how to do my makeup gave me a bit of anxiety, but then I thought back to what Negan had said the previous night about me being myself, being authentic with him. And the real me didn't like to wear a lot of makeup. Whipping out my mascara, I applied a bit to my already dark lashes, deciding to go without any other makeup. If Negan wanted the real me, he was going to get the real me. The recent yet subtle changes to my appearance had helped that. As I looked at myself in the mirror, my nerves somehow began to disappear. I looked and felt like the real me and a part of me hoped that Negan would like that. My anxiety melted away and was replaced with a sense of curiosity, maybe even excitement. I knew that tonight would probably consist of making dinner and a movie, which seemed so ordinary, but I knew that a night with Negan would be anything but ordinary.

I went to the living room and sat down on a recliner, waiting for my guest to arrive. I wasn't sure how much time had passed when I heard rhythmic knocking on the front door. I stood up and checked my blurred reflection in the TV, deciding I looked pretty good. Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the door and placed a steady hand on the knob, pulling it open to reveal Negan.

My eyes immediately found his, which were twinkling with delight. I gave him a genuine smile, but then my gaze drifted down to what was in his arms: a large brown paper bag with a roll of French bread peaking out at the top. I raised my eyebrows, silently asking him a question.

"What, doll? Didn't expect me to bring you dinner?"

I smirked at him. "Definitely not. But I have to say that it's a nice surprise. Come in," I said taking a step back so he could move into the house. He moved past me, looming over me as I closed the door and locked it. I could feel his eyes on me as I did so, and I allowed myself to look up at him. Plastered on his face was was his trademark grin, but there was something else dancing in his hazel eyes, a sense of longing that made me shiver. The way he was looking at me was overwhelming, turning my earlier sense of self confidence into self consciousness.

"What is it?" I asked him, my voice coming out lower than I had intended.

He shrugged. "I missed ya," Negan said simply, moving past me and into the kitchen. I followed closely behind and watched as he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over one of the chairs. I found myself very distracted by his arms, firm and slightly muscular, scattered with tattoos. I took in his profile, traced the lines on his face with my eyes, ending with his stupid yet insanely adorable dimples. For once, he remained silent, which was uncharacteristic of him, but then I realized that he knew that I was looking at him, that he was holding my attention. The clouds of doubt for myself, for the situation, and for him started rolling in, promising a storm that would ruin this whole thing before it even began. I closed my eyes, attempting to center myself. My wolf, or maybe it was really me, fought against the clouds hard enough that a sliver of light began to shine through. I could do this, I told myself. As I opened my eyes, I found Negan looking back at me, somehow knowing my inward battle without needing to ask.

"You good?" He asked. There was so much meaning in it. He wasn't just asking about my state of mind, but that I was good with this, good with him. And I was.

I smiled up at him. "I'm good."

He nodded but didn't say anything else as he began to unpack the contents of the bag, pulling out the French bread, some small containers of spices, and a box of pasta. I couldn't help but scrunch my nose as he pulled out a can of spaghetti sauce and Negan noticed my expression.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"Nothing," I lied, not wanting to discuss my serious dislike of spaghetti. Not dislike, no I've hated spaghetti for years. But I really didn't want Negan to think I didn't appreciate his gesture of making me dinner.

He smirked at me. "Got a problem with spaghetti?"

"N-no," I said, rather unconvincingly.

Negan sighed. "What was my condition, Carson?"

Be yourself, I answered silently in my head. Negan's eyes were on me, expecting an honest answer.

"Fine," I sighed. "I kind of hate spaghetti."

His mouth dropped. "How in the ever loving fuck do you hate spaghetti?"

I shrugged. "Long story."

He shrugged back at me. "We got all night, darlin'."

Well, here goes nothing, I thought. "Okay, so when I was a kid, maybe nine years old, Cameron was learning how to cook and he made spaghetti. I'm not sure where he went wrong, I think something with the sauce…but it made me sick and I haven't eaten it since."

Negan cocked an eyebrow at me. "Sick as in…?"

I groaned. "As in I threw up, okay?"

He looked at me for a moment, before breaking out into laughter.

I didn't have to see my face to know that I was turning red. "It's not funny, Negan," I said while he continued to laugh. Now, I wanted to curl up into a corner and stay there forever.

He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, obviously enjoying my embarrassment. "Shit, I'm sorry, doll! It's just that as bad ass as you are, I would have never guessed that you're afraid of spaghetti."

I scoffed and it was surprisingly playful. "I'm not afraid of spaghetti! I just don't like it. There's a difference."

"Well, that's because you've never had my spaghetti. And the way I make my sauce? It's my speciality. You won't regret it," he ended, rather convincingly.

For a second, I thought that if I had suggested on making something else, he probably would have complied. But he was doing all of this for me, showing me a part of himself that I didn't know existed. A domesticated Negan.

"Okay. Let's see if you can change my opinion on my least favorite food," I said. I found myself genuinely curious about Negan's cooking, maybe even more so about watching Negan move around my kitchen.

"Doll, I plan on it," he said smugly.

I moved around the kitchen, pulling out the necessary pans and utensils that Negan would need. He stood at the counter, carefully concocting his recipe and managed to find an apron that I didn't know we had and pulled it on. I went through the basic motions of prepping for him, boiling water on the stove and cutting the French bread and seasoning it with garlic salt and putting it in the oven. We were both silent as we worked, but it wasn't awkward. It was comfortable, Negan and I moving around each other effortlessly, without bumping into one another in the small space. It felt familiar somehow.

As I waited for the water to boil and Negan was at the stove working on his sauce, I figured that now was a good time to ask him questions and get to know him better.

"So what else can you cook?" I asked, genuinely curious about his culinary skills.

He briefly smirked at me before turning his attention back to the stove. "Unfortunately for you sweetheart, the one and only meal I do right is spaghetti," he said while dumping the box of noodles into the pan of boiling water.

I couldn't help but laugh. "It's okay. I'm pretty limited in what I can make too. Cameron's the cook around here. I'd definitely starve without him."

He nodded. "Speaking of your brother…he mentioned something about you being adopted last night. What's the story there?" His attention was completely focused on me.

For a moment, I was caught off guard by his question. Then again, I wasn't surprised that Cameron had mentioned that we weren't really related. I thought about answering the question that would require me to reflect on my history and it scared me. Telling someone about the deepest darkest parts of me. But this wasn't just someone. This was Negan. My mate, my wolf reminded me in a whisper.

As I took a breath, I was instantly assaulted by the smell of bread that was beginning to burn.

"Shit, the garlic bread!" I said as I rushed to open the oven, grabbing a dish towel and folding it haphazardly and pulling out the garlic bread. Almost immediately, a burning sensation spread across my fingers. Clearly, I hadn't folded the towel well enough. I pretty much dropped the pan on the counter and started waving my hand at the irritation.

"Here, let me see," Negan said. Before I could object, he took my hand in his and inspected my fingers, looking for any sign of damage. I watched his face, but his reaction took me off guard. No matter how minor that accident was, concern washed over his face. I couldn't help but get lost in the sensation of my hand being engulfed by his, much larger and warmer. His long fingers ghosted around my fingers, moving up to caress the inside of my wrist. He looked up from my hand, hazel eyes meeting blue. As soon as our eyes met, an electrical current passed between us, seemingly unbreakable. Until another odor began to invade our senses.

"Shit, the sauce!" Negan exclaimed, letting go of me to move to the saucepan, stirring the sauce quickly before it could burn. He stirred for a moment before turning off the burner and sighed. Looking at him, still worried about his spaghetti sauce, I couldn't help my first reaction.

I laughed. The whole thing was ridiculous. It took Negan a moment before he started laughing with me. The laughter died down after a few moments and Negan took off the apron, draping it over a chair, leaving him clad in that white shirt that hugged his body.

"Well shit," Negan said. "We both almost fucked up our first date."

I blushed, both from checking him out yet again and when he stated this was our first date. It felt more official somehow…but it still didn't feel like enough.

I shook my head at him. "Negan, this is definitely not our first date."

He tilted his head. "You're right. It's more like our third."

I scoffed. "Hardly! And besides, what are you counting as dates?"

"Hmm, let's see. There was the rooftop, classic and romantic and shit. Then there was the stargazing in the woods the other night, also romantic as shit. And then there's tonight."

"Clearly, you have low standards for dates."

He chuckled. "And clearly Carson, you've never had a man try and romance you."

Shit. He was right about that. But I realized that I was enjoying our flirting. Wait, flirting? I was flirting with Negan?

Shit indeed.

I decided to roll with it. "And let me guess. You're that man?"

He grinned at me. I realized that I'd never get tired of seeing him smile, especially when it was genuine like it was now.

"Depends on if you like my spaghetti. If you don't, then this relationship is definitely not going to work out. So let's eat!"