I love Frank Sinatra and Italian food. I mean, they go together, right?
Dancing around the kitchen, I have my hair up and my grandmother’s apron on. She was a stereotypical old Italian lady. My mom’s mom, Grandma Carmela, would cook all day, every day. With big family Sunday dinners, the women would wait on the men, and the men would let them. I used to shake my head when the older women in my family would prepare plates for their men, but now I like the idea of it. I’m hoping the old saying is true about the way to a man’s heart.
I’m stirring the pot of extra sauce and meatballs when I hear a noise behind me. When I turn around, the most luscious sight stands before me. Daniel is holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers. It’s what he’s wearing that takes my breath away. I’m so used to seeing him in shorts, but tonight he’s in a long-sleeved button-down shirt. It’s dark green, which shows off his eyes. The sleeves are rolled up, showing off his muscular forearms. My eyes travel down to his jeans. Dear lord, they are tight around his thighs.
“Sorry about walking in, but I knocked several times,” he yells over the music, and I snap out of my lust induced trance. “Nicole, you look beautiful.” Oh my god, I still have the apron on. I must look like my grandmother.
“Thank you,” I say as I start to take the apron off, but he grabs my hand.
“I like the apron on you. It’s very domestic and sexy. Jesus, I hope that didn’t sound sexist.”
My definition of domestic means family, children. Those are things I’ll never have.
Suddenly, Daniel grabs my hand. “Hey, I’m sorry if I said something wrong.”
I’ve always been told that I don’t have a poker face, but I better put one on now. “You didn’t say anything wrong. Just reminds me of my family back home.”
Changing the subject quickly, I thank him for the flowers and fill his wine glass.
“How was fishing this week?”
“It was busy. I took several groups out, and they caught their fair share of tarpon, so they were happy.”
“How was kindergarten?” Daniel asks, but I suppose he’s already heard all about it from Lucy.
“No major catastrophes this week. We moved on to the letter C and learned how to walk in a single file line without touching one another.” Saying it out loud makes it sound so silly, but it really is important.
The oven beeps, letting me know that the lasagna is ready. “I hope you like lasagna. It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”
Daniel laughs. “I’m pretty sure I’ll love anything you make, Nicole.” He stands up against my back, and I can feel the heat between us. I know no one is perfect, and I've been fooled before, but damn if this man isn’t close.
We move back into the kitchen and sit at my vintage kitchen set.
“Let me help you.”
My grandmother would kill me if I let him help me, plus I like being able to take care of him. After all, he did take care of me when I was sick.
“Please sit, it’ll be my pleasure to serve you.” As soon as it comes out of my mouth, I turn to look at Daniel, and he has fire in his eyes.
Clearing my throat, I plate the lasagna with a meatball on the side.
“Thank you, this looks almost as delicious as you do.”
I almost drop the salad bowl when he says it, but I’m able to recover quickly.
“Um, thank you. You look pretty fabulous yourself.” I know I’m blushing, but this is what this man does to me.
The rest of the dinner goes a little more G-rated. We talk about growing up with older sisters and the differences between living in New York State and Florida. Daniel insists on helping me clean up. I don’t fight him because it’s damn sexy watching him in the kitchen. “I’d like to see you in the apron,” I blurt out without meaning to.
He cocks his eyebrow at me. “And what would I be wearing under my apron?”
“Hmm, that’s an interesting question. Let’s see,” I say as I tap my chin. “How about some black Calvin Klein boxer briefs, no shirt.”
“Wow, that was pretty specific,” he says as he folds the dish towel and places it on the counter.
“Hey, I can’t help it when I know what I want.” God, please shut me up before I really embarrass myself.
He walks towards me, his eyes never leaving mine. I feel as if I’m on fire.
“And what exactly is it you want, Nicole?”