“Really?” Her eyes narrow.
“What does that mean?”
She rolls her eyes. “The last time youcooked,you actually ordered from Trattoria Delia.”
“You knew?”
“Please. You are not going to go from not knowing when pasta is cooked to making gnocchi.”
I smile sheepishly as she sets down her purse on the kitchen island and walks to the stove. She lifts the lid of the pot and takes in the scent. “Risotto.”
“I made it. I even sweated.” I point to my collar. “See this? It’s from effort, not nerves.”
She laughs, and that laugh, fuck me, I’ll chase it to the end of my days.
We sit down to eat, and I’m nervous as fuck. It tasted fine when I tried it but what if it’s terrible?
“This is really good,” she says between bites. “What happened to the guy who couldn’t boil water?
“He fell in love.Twice.”
She glances at me, lips parting, but she doesn’t say anything.
“And maybe an Italian chef walked me through it over the phone. One of Hux’s.”
“Speaking of Hux, how’s he doing?”
We speak easily about our friends, and I tell her that they miss her, because somehow they got me in the divorce, but would much prefer to have Mia.
When our plates are empty, we linger. She holds her wine glass lightly in both hands. The candlelight flickers in her eyes.
“So, the board meeting is in two weeks?” she asks.
I nod.
“How do you feel?”
I fix my gaze on her, weighing my next words. “That if the board wants me gone, I’ll go. I’m not going to tell you that it won’t sting. It will. A part of me feels…that it’s so unfair.”
“Itis.” She puts her hand on mine.
Comforting comes instinctively to her. I have no problem taking advantage of it. I turn my palm so our fingers intertwine.
“I feel a little humiliated that Dad still has the power to chuck me out on my ass when I don’t listen to him.”
She squeezes my hand.
“And…I feel relieved.”
She frowns, puzzled. “What? Why?”
I play with her fingers. “Why? Because it’s a lot of work, Mia. A lot of stress. The thought that in two weeks I could just do whatever the fuck I want, whenever I want it is…well, it’s a very freeing feeling.”
Her eyes soften with understanding. “So, what’s next?”
“Should there be a next? Maybe I’ll just sit on my ass.”
She arches a brow, amusement flickering in her gaze. “That’s not who you are.”
