“The Bailey’s Irish Cream cookies and …” She trails off, looking at me with a panic in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”
Frowning, I wonder what caused her to turn on a dime like that. The realization hits me right between the eyes when I recall the new recipe she just mentioned.
“You think the mere mention of alcohol will cause me to drink?”
She wags her head apologetically. “No, I didn’t mean to blurt it out so callously.”
I chuckle and shake my head, not feeling the slightest bit offended. “Look around, Desiree.” I pause as she does so. “We’re in a restaurant filled with people drinking a range of alcoholic drinks. We’re seated fifteen feet from a well-stocked bar. I promise you, you telling me about your new cookie recipe won’t be the impetus for me to pick up a drink.”
My alcoholism is widely known, given who my father is and the many years I spent making him look like a total hypocrite because he was supposed to be a world-renowned expert on addiction, and yet, he couldn’t prevent his son from spiraling down into the depths of the disease.
When I took over as CEO of McKenna Rehab Clinics after my father stepped down, more articles than I care to mention recounted my stints in and out of rehab and thattumultuous time in my lifeas they’d put it.
“Are you sure?” she almost whispered. “With Deirdre, I did my best not to bring alcohol into my apartment when she was staying with me. I cut out the wine advertisements in magazines I knew she liked to read and would change the channel if a beer commercial came on while we were watching.”
I shake my head. “My parents tried to do the same. For some reason, they were convinced that if I weren’t reminded of alcohol, I wouldn’t go out and drink.” I lean in, taking her hand in mine. “The reality is all of that was for nothing. I don’t need commercials or advertisements to remind me of alcohol. My mind will do that. Just like Deidre’s did.”
I run my thumb along the outside of her palm, noting how tender her skin feels.
“Thanks for asking me to dinner. The past two years, on this date, I spent the entire evening in my kitchen, baking tray after tray of cookies or preparing a dough, so that I wouldn’t have to think about my sister.”
“And here we are talking about her.” I start to feel a little guilty for bringing this discussion up, but Desiree shakes her head.
“No, this is even better, somehow. I don’t get a chance to talk about her often. My parents …” She trails off and looks away. “They don’t mention her at all, especially on this day.” Her gaze casts upwards, colliding with mine. “Thank you.”
‘You’re welcome,’ gets stuck in my throat. Those two words don’t seem appropriate for this moment. So, I do what comes naturally. With her hand in mine, I lean over the table, careful to avoid the candle at the center, and press my lips to hers.
Desiree doesn’t pull away. She meets my kiss with an enthusiasm of her own. I make it short on purpose, not wanting to get too carried away in the restaurant or on this day. While Desiree may be thanking me for taking her out, my rational mind reminds me that this is still the anniversary of her sister’s death. She’s more emotional than she would be, and my aim is not to take advantage of that. When I make Desiree mine, I intend to make sure it’s with her full consent and rationale onboard.
I retake my seat at the same time our waitress brings out our food. We ordered a large bruschetta pizza for the table. I carefully watch as she cuts the pizza slice on her plate with a knife and fork. Her movements are so dainty and feminine it’s a throwback to the etiquette classes my parents forced me to take as a teenager, something I’m well aware that Desiree took as well in her youth. Both she and Deirdre had.
“This is delicious.”
I smile. “That means you forgive me for liking oatmeal raisin cookies, right?”
She pulls the cloth napkin from her lap to cover her mouth as she laughs. “You’re forgiven.”
I nod, and we continue making small talk while we eat.
“What’s on your agenda for the rest of the evening?” Desiree asks once we step out of the restaurant nearly an hour later.
“You,” I answer without hesitation.
When her lips twist upward into a grin, I know she’s decided to stick with me throughout the remainder of the night.
Chapter 3
Peering down at my wrist, noting the itme. My eyeswiden. “Oh my gosh,” I squeal as we approach my apartment door. “I can’t believe we stayed out until after midnight. I’m going to be a zombie in school tomorrow.”
I spin around to look up at Neil. Though I haven’t had anything to drink, I become dizzy from the mere look in his eyes. My gaze drops to his lips, and I lick my own, anticipating another kiss.
“Just throw on a movie or something for the day. I used to love it when my teachers did that when I was in elementary school.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “I’d love to, but I have an actual curriculum I need to teach before the end of the year. And with the number of breaks we have between now and January 1st, I have to take advantage of as much teaching time as I can get.”
He steps closer before running the tips of his fingers down my cheek. I tilt my head, leaning into the soft caress.
“You love teaching?”
