“Good,” I say. “Because I made chicken caprese.”
“I didn’t know you could cook,” she says, eyeing the food on the counter. I also sliced bread and set out a plate of olive oil and herbs for dunking.
“I am actually a pretty great chef. I just don’t have time usually.”
“And you have time today?” she asks, sitting down at the counter. “What’s the catch?”
I give her a funny look. “What makes you think there’s a catch?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugs, reaching for a slice of bread. “You left work early. You never leave work early.”
“I had to stop at Whole Foods to get the ingredients. I also got dessert. Chocolate chip cannoli’s."
“See! A catch. It’s one thing to wine and dine your fake wife. It’s another to buy her rich, creamy Italian desserts. What are you up to, Callum Hardin?”
I grab a bottle of chardonnay from the ice bucket and pour two glasses. Then I round the counter and stand right in front of her. “There is no catch. I wanted to surprise you with dinner, so I left work early.”
I hold out a glass and she reluctantly takes it. Her gaze zeros in on the glass and she swirls it in her hand. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“And I need to talk to you about something. But first,” I spin her stool so that she is facing me. Then I clip her chin in my fingers and gently tug her attention up to me. “I want you to relax. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. And I drew you a bath.”
“A bath?” she asks incredulously and I fucking love it. The way she asks the question you’d think I just told her I booked us a trip to Tahiti.
“Yes. Lavender infused.”
I tug on her hand and lead her to the master bath where the room is humid, and the lights are low, and the water is hot and ready.
“Why are you doing all of this for me?” she asks, looking around before looking up at me.
I pull her against me and brush her hair from her face. Then I press my lips to hers. I don’t answer the question with words, I just kiss her. She melts against me even though the kiss is closed and soft. When I pull away, her lips stay parted.
“The towels are heated. Take your time,” with that, I close the door to check on the chicken.
I can’t help the smirk on my face. I’ve never considered myself a romantic. But I know for a fact, I’m not a fuckboy. That was always Avery’s MO. I’ve always prided myself in being better than that. And something about Amanda makes me want to be better still. Her confusion is cute. The way she can’t quite figure out what I’m up to. I love that I can keep her guessing. The game is fun. Like a chase. But by the end of tonight, I don’t want her to be confused. I don’t want her to question anything at all.
I want her to know exactly how I feel.
Thirty minutes or so later, just as I light the candles at the table, I hear the bathtub draining upstairs and I smile. About ten minutes after that, she comes padding down the stairs in a pink tank top and black satin shorts. Her hair is wet, and she smells like plumeria and coconut.
“Oh,” her voice lifts and then falls again when she sees the table set for dinner. “I’m sorry, I think I lost track of time. You have the most epic bathtub up there.”
“You can use it any time you want,” I say softly. And I mean it. Then I pull out the chair for her. Amanda walks over, her eyes trailing over everything I’ve set on the table–two plates thoughtfully loaded with chicken caprese, smaller chilled plates with a fresh greens salad and more bread in the middle of the table. There are also glasses of wine, though I notice she still hasn’t finished or even touched the one from before.
“If I had known it was going to be so fancy, I would have dressed for the occasion,” she smiles. She starts to sit down but I catch her cheek in my palm before she does. Once her eyes reach mine, I kiss her. Then I let her sit.
“I like what you’re wearing,” I say, rounding the table to join her.
“Pajamas?” she giggles.
“I like that you are comfortable in my home. Our home.”
I pick up my fork and knife to dig in, but Amanda is staring at me with narrowed eyes and a quirky smile. “What’s going on with you?”
“What do you mean?” I take a bite.
“You’re acting…weird.”
“Weird how?”
