Brody
I pour two glasses of wine and light the candle in the middle of the table in the dining area. A bouquet of wildflowers shoved in a vase that I picked up at the grocery store while I was out shopping for dinner sits next to the flickering flame.
With a critical eye, I take in the setting.
I want everything to be perfect.
Romantic, but not overly cheesy.
Unfortunately, I don’t have time to fuss with the table setting because the timer for the noodles boiling away on the stove dings.
Believe it or not, I’ve never made spaghetti before. I had to read the directions. Then, just to make sure I didn’t fuck it up, I YouTubed it. Seemed simple enough. I’d almost go so far as to say idiotproof. Except, I don’t want to jinx anything.
I use a fork to fish out a noodle and test its readiness.
“Shit,” I mutter, burning my fingers as I throw the pasta into my mouth and chew it quickly.
I check the sauce.
It tastes good.
Although it’s from a jar. So…kind of hard to screw that up, which makes it the perfect dinner for a novice like myself. I need a culinary dish with training wheels. Something that shows I put in effort but nothing that would end up looking like a charcoal briquette.
Or make the fire department break down the door.
I throw the garlic bread in the oven for five minutes and pour a bag a chopped salad into a bowl.
For the fiftieth time, I scan the table taking stock of everything. It looks good, if I do say so myself. I don’t want to be premature and pat myself on the back, but I am seriously crushing this whole dinner thing.
Natalie is going to be super-impressed with my mad culinary skills.
You know what?
I’m super-impressed with myself.
Just as I take the bread from the oven, I hear a key slide into the lock, and the door to the apartment opens. My heart, believe it or not, leaps into my throat and then beats in overdrive. I can’t believe I’m this nervous. I need this night to go off without a hitch. The end game here is for Natalie to understand just how important she is to me.
If everything goes according to plan, I might even drop the L-bomb.
I almost shake my head at that.
Right now, I’m blowing my own mind.
Natalie comes around the corner, her feet grinding to a halt when she sees me standing in the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” she whispers, looking stunned.
I state the obvious while pointing toward the pots and pans cluttering up the counter. “I made dinner for you.” Then I correct, “For us.”
Her eyes travel slowly around the kitchen before landing on the table. She sucks in a sharp breath and brings her fingers to her mouth.
“The candle isn’t too much, is it?” I ask nervously, wishing I had opted for either the flowers or the candle, not both. Maybe it’s overkill.
She shakes her head. “No, it’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
My entire body relaxes, and I realize how tense I’d become while waiting for her reaction. “Good. I want everything to be perfect for you.”
Her eyes slide back to mine. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
Since she hasn’t moved, I close the distance between us and slide the messenger bag off her shoulder, dropping it to the floor. Then I wrap her up in my arms. Hers slip around me and hug me so tightly that it feels like she’s going to squeeze the air from my lungs. But I love it. Love that she’s holding on for dear life.
I drop a small kiss at the crown of her head. “I wanted to do something special for you.”
“Thank you.”
I pull back so I can search her eyes. She blinks back the wetness as she stares up at me. There’s a look swimming around in her eyes. Happiness. But something else that I can’t put my finger on lurks there as well. It’s been bothering me all week.
Pushing it aside, I say, “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Starving. I didn’t get a chance to eat lunch because it was so busy,” Natalie remarks.
I raise both brows and tease, “What? No time for French fries? How’s that possible?”
She smiles, and whatever had been haunting her expression disappears. “It was a marathon session of studying at the library.”
I nod, thinking about the first time we studied together on the third floor. Okay, maybe I’m not thinking so much about the studying as what happened during the break.
I clear my head of that image. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll bring out our plates.”
“Okay.”
She takes a seat and picks up her glass of wine, taking a small sip. I set a plate of pasta and garlic bread in front of her. There’s a bowl for salad on the side.
Even though I know Natalie is surprised and happy about the dinner I’ve prepared, I still sense something off with her behavior.
Is she worried that I’m not serious about her?
She doesn’t need to be. I’ve never made a commitment like this, and she knows it. If I wasn’t interested in being with her, in furthering our relationship, I would break things off.
I want Natalie.
I get that being with me is a lot to handle. Natalie doesn’t care for the attention she receives for being my girlfriend. She likes moving around campus anonymously. She hates the puck bunnies that are always hanging around, but I’ve done absolutely nothing to encourage their behavior. I keep girls at a firm distance because I don’t want her to feel like she has something to worry about. I’m not Reed fucking Collins. I would never cheat on her or hurt her the way he did.
If we’re happy together, then that’s all that should matter. The rest is nothing more than white noise. We’ll make it work.
Once we’ve both eaten, Natalie rises from her seat to clear the dishes from the table.
“Sit down, I’ll do that later. I’m taking care of everything tonight, and that includes KP.” When she starts to argue, I point to her half-filled glass of wine. “Enjoy your beverage. I’ll be right back.”
I grab both of our plates and the salad and dump everything in the sink. I bought a fancy chocolate cake at the store. There was no way in hell I was even attempting to bake a dessert. I’m well aware of my limitations.
Pasta was enough for one night. And the fact that it turned out decent—I’ll take that as a win.
I sit down and top off her wine.
“This was really nice,” she says.
I smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“No one has ever cooked dinner for me, so thank you,” she adds quietly.
I snag her fingers with mine. This is it. Do or die time. “I know we haven’t been together long, but I want you to know that I really care about you.” I squeeze her hand to emphasize my words. “I want this to work out between us. I’m thinking long-term.” My gut twists with nerves. I have the same feeling I get right before I jump onto the ice for the first time during a championship game. Like I’m so excited that I might throw up. “Next year I’ll be in Milwaukee, and I want you there with me.”
Once the words are out, I exhale a breath. Relief pumps through me. I expect her to say something, but she doesn’t. She just stares at me from across the table.
Not knowing what to do, I blurt, “I love you, Natalie.”
With my heart in my throat, I wait for her to say those three little words back. Every second that slowly ticks by feels like agony.