- Alex -
opened the oven and beef-scented steam blasted my face as I stuck the thermometer in the sizzling hunk of meat. “That ought to do it,” I said to myself, turning the oven off and leaving the door slightly ajar. I glanced at the table, which was already set, and then at the bottle of wine on the counter, which I’d already opened.
Perhaps it was poor hosting to help myself, but I needed the courage. It was impossible to tell from Gemma’s text whether she was looking forward to coming over, and the fact that it took her three days to accept my invitation didn’t exactly fill me with confidence.
Even so, I decided to stay positive. After all, she’d agreed to spend some time with me, which was progress. How she would act when she got here and whether or not she’d let me show her a good time was a separate issue.
But I had to try.
Not seeing her was killing me slowly, and it didn’t help that I kept hearing such great things about her from everyone else. Great things I already knew. Great things I wanted to be celebrating on a daily basis. With her.
Best-case scenario, tonight would be a fresh start for us. Worst-case, she was only coming to say she was well and truly over me…though I was trying not to dwell on that possibility.
I waited a beat when the doorbell rang and took a deep breath.
She was holding a bottle of wine when I opened the door, her dark hair falling in loose curls over her shoulders.
“Hi,” she said. “Nice place.”
“Thanks for coming,” I said, my chest tightening when her eyes met mine.
“This is for you,” she said, thrusting the bottle at me. “I wasn’t sure what we were having so…”
“Red is perfect,” I said, fighting the urge to hug her to me. “Please come in.”
She stepped inside and looked around, her gaze lingering on the modern light fixture hanging above us in the high-ceilinged entryway. “Smells good in here.”
“I’m relieved to hear you say that,” I said, heading towards the kitchen. When I didn’t hear her behind me, I turned around and saw that she’d taken her heels off. “You didn’t have to—”
“Habit,” she said. “Besides, you know I’d rather be in sneakers.”
I smiled and turned around. Perhaps she was only being polite, but the fact that she’d already made herself at home filled me with fervent hope.
The kitchen was more brightly lit, and as she stepped out of the shadows, I was able to appreciate how the plum-colored wrap dress she was wearing hugged her curves. “Please forgive me for tasting the wine without you,” I said, pouring her a glass from the open bottle.
“Not at all,” she said. “Everyone knows drinking wine is the best part of cooking.”
I was grateful for her kindness, her beauty. Dear God, how I hoped she could find it in her heart to give me another chance.
“Speaking of which, what are you making?”
“My cooking skills are fairly limited,” I warned, leaning against the large island.
She raised her eyebrows. “Meaning?”
“Meaning the specialty of the day is always meat and potatoes.”
“I like meat and potatoes.”
“Good,” I said. “Then you’ll love tonight’s menu.”
She came around the edge of the counter towards the stove. “May I?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said, extending my palm.
She bent down and peeked in the oven. “Roasted vegetables, too? I’m impressed.”
I was checking her out when I suddenly realized she’d dressed up for me. My guts knotted with hope.
She glanced over at me when I didn’t respond.
“I thought you’d be impressed by the tiny carrots,” I blurted.
She laughed. “I am.”
“Good.”
“Though I’m not sure why you’re trying to impress me,” she said, straightening back up and half closing the oven.
Really? I assumed it was painfully obvious.
“After the way I treated you?” She shrugged. “I’m not sure I deserve all this.”
“Oh Gemma.” I shook my head.
“What?”
“Don’t you see? You deserve so much more.”
She pressed her lips together.
“I never should’ve lied to you.”
She leaned against the counter and draped her fingers around the stem of her glass.
“You’re the last person on Earth I’d ever want to hurt.”
She stared at me for a second like she really wanted to believe me. Like she wished she did. Then the expression melted from her face as if I hadn’t said anything. “Can I do something to help?”
“Everything is ready, actually. The beef just has to settle for a few minutes.”
“Did you make these, too?” she asked, pointing at the silver pot full of mashed potatoes.
I pulled a spoon from the drawer to my left. “Here,” I said, handing it to her. “Let me know if they’re seasoned to your liking.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course,” I said, wondering whether I genuinely wanted her opinion or if I was just curious to see how she looked leaning over my stove. But as I watched her remove the steam-filled lid and dip her spoon in the pot, I got my answer. The mouth-watering scene before me was the future I wanted. No question. Her here, cooking with me, talking about food and wine and the day we’d had night after night after night.
Could I live without her? Sure. I’d made it this long. But now that I knew how much richer life felt with her in my corner, it was hard to crave anything else.
She swallowed the mash and squinted at me. “Do I detect…parmesan?”
“My secret ingredient,” I said, flashing my brows at her. “Along with a tad too much cream.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Yum.”
I lifted my chin towards the pot. “Have another spoonful to tide you over.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, as if I might find her double dipping offensive.
“Are you asking if I’m afraid of your germs?”
She blushed and looked away before taking another small spoonful from the side of the pan.
“I hear you’re doing a great job rolling out your initiative,” I said, taking a sip of wine.
Her eyes lit up as she laid her spoon in the sink. “Yeah?”
“Are you enjoying it?”
She nodded. “I am, actually. It’s hard work, but it’s rewarding to know the program will help new members achieve their goals faster and avoid injury.”
“That’s the idea.”
“It’s only one little project, though. I have no idea how you built so many gyms from the ground up.”
“I couldn’t have done it without my team,” I said. “They did most of the hard work. I was just the stubborn guy who refused to take no for an answer.”
“I know a thing or two about being stubborn myself,” she said, offering a shy smile before looking over at the set table.
“Are the candles too much?”
“No,” she said, glancing back at me. “They’re perfect.”