I see that he’s trying to fight his slight amusement. “Duly noted.” He clears his throat then as he shifts in his seat. “Thank you for spending some time with me, Alara. It’s just that no one’s home and I don’t really want to be alone, so . . .”
I don’t like that he feels the need to justify himself. My heartis fracturing at the thought of him desperate for some company. “I don’t mind, seriously. We’re friends, okay?”
I wonder if he’s feeling lonely – he must be. He’s away from his apartment, from his dreams. I’ll do everything I can to distract him.
Back at my cabin, Diego makes himself comfortable as though he lives here. His boots are left by the door, his coat hanging amongst mine. He ignores Tabby when she meows and asks for his attention, settles on the couch, and picks up the book he took from my shelf.
I love that he’s a reader. It’s sexy and alluring. When I caught him checking the titles lined up on my shelves, I’d asked if he read much. He replied with a shrug, saying, “Depends what you mean bymuch.”
Meanwhile, I go take a quick shower and change into some comfortable clothes. When I emerge back into the living room with my attention zeroed in on the text my mom sent me about tomorrow’s turkey, I feel his eyes on me – sparks burning my flesh. He takes me in, slowly, from the messy bun piled atop my head, to the thin tank top clinging to my chest, to the sweatpants I’ve had to roll at the waistband to fit me.
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask, surprised by the steadiness of my voice.
He clears his throat. “Sure.”
I decide to uncork a bottle of white, because why not? As he chooses one of Cigarettes After Sex’s vinyls to play, I pour us two glasses, and get started on making dinner.
“Can I help?” he asks roughly. I hear a stool sliding across the floor, and when I peer over my shoulder, he’s staring at me – or rather my ass – before taking a sip of his wine.
Knowing I’m attractive enough to catch Diego’s attention makes a chill rush down my spine.
But, again, I need to keep my fantasies tucked in a corner of my head.
“No, it’s all good. It’s a quick recipe.” I lay everything I need on the counter, hyper-aware of his scrutiny of my every move, then take a drink of the wine, savoring its fruity taste. Dad brought it over from Alsace last winter and stocked the wine cellar with too many bottles. “Do you cook?”
He shrugs. “I can boil some pasta and throw in some store-made marinara sauce.”
“Worthy of a Michelin chef,” I quip, filling a pot with water before putting it on the stove.
His dimples throw me off-balance when he grins. He’s stupidly handsome. “Did you learn how to cook in college?”
“Yes. Maybe it runs in your family, but Gaby can’t cook for shit either. I can’t even tell you the amount of times she burned her eggs.” Rooming with Gaby was both fun and exasperating, but I wouldn’t have traded my roommate for anyone else. “I got sick and tired of eating ruined dishes, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. Gaby has never been so thankful for me.”
Diego chuckles into his wine glass. “We, sadly, took after our dad, and Mom doesn’t have the patience to teach us because we’re both so bad. But I’ve been trying to help her.”
“I can teach you what I know.” I observe the way he analyzes my hands as I grate the Pecorino Romano.
Then, his beautiful eyes flit up to mine. “Is that a date proposal?”
One of my brows arches, a teasing grin spreading across my mouth. I think he forgets that I can flirt back. “Do you want it to be a date?”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. Amusement and something like admiration shines around the edges of his irises, but I focus on the way he furiously blushes and doesn’t answer thequestion. Instead, he asks, “Remind me again what you studied in college?”
I now have my back turned to him as I face the stove and my pans. I feel his presence like a warm cocoon as he comes to stand beside me, one hip leaning against the counter. He buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his soft attention on everything I do. Like he can’t look away. Like he doesn’t want to.
“I majored in Communications with a minor in Public Relations.”
“Why those studies?”
I shrug, watching the butter melt in the pan after pouring the packet of pasta in the boiling water. “It’s easy. It’s something I enjoy. But I don’t know what to do now. I don’t know where I want to go.”
I just feel like I’m stalling, losing myself in circles while I watch everyone around me live life at full pace.
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he says softly. “Have you considered a master’s degree?”
“Yeah, but, again, I have no idea what I’m interested in. I’m not good at anything in particular either.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. You know that it’s okay to take time to figure yourself out, right? You don’t have to rush if you’re happy with the way your life is at the moment.”
