The chilled Riesling goes down cold and smooth, stirring the need to taste him again.
“Great choice of wine,” he says.
“I know you don’t like sweet things, so I selected one that was a bit drier.”
“There are some sweet things I like.”
My cheeks warm, and we grin at each other, which has become an actual thing between us. Connecting over a smile.
“I just need a few minutes to get dinner ready.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. You’re always so good at taking care of other people. Tonight, I’ve got this.” I open the fridge and pull out a container. “Though to be fair, I didn’t have to do much. Grab a seat. I’ll bring everything over.”
He slides onto the stool and watches me spoon coleslaw onto two plates. But his gaze isn’t on the food; it’s on me. On my curtain bangs framing my face, the curve of my neck, and the set I’m wearing. Cozy with an eye toward sexy. The gray scoop-neck top clings to me like smoke, revealing a strip of midriff above loose drawstring pants that ride low on my hips. His gaze catches on the tie in front—one he could undo with a flick of his wrist.
I’m not sure I would stop him, but all things considered, I want to take things slowly.
The rolls are gigantic, wrapped in red and white checkered parchment.
“You did this for me, Blue?” His words make it sound like I’ve presented him with something far more precious than just a sandwich.
“Val did the real work,” I shrug, adding a handful of potato chips to our plates and bringing them over. “But I remembered it’s your favorite and wanted to surprise you.”
“You did. In the best way.”
“I’m glad.” I light two candles, dim the overhead light, and join him on the next stool.
Armed with napkins, we dig into the buttery rolls and mounds of lobster chunks tossed in spicy mayo. I close my eyes, savoring the decadence.
“No wonder this ranks at the top of your list.”
“Right?!” He grins as we dig in and get messy, laughing and wiping our hands and mouths between bites. “This one’s going in the treasure box,” he says, tapping his temple.
“Treasure box?”
“It’s what my mother used to say about special memories—storing them away like keepsakes.”
“Aw, I love that.”
“She had a ton of expressions. One for everything. And they were always profound.”
“Like what?” I ask, wanting to hear more about her.
“Dreams are the illustrations of your soul. Draw them on every surface.”
“Wow. That’s deep.”
“Moms was like that.” He swallows a bite. “Warm and funny, but when she had something important to say, she aimed straight for the heart. She was big on following your dreams and finding your version of happy. Never settling.”
“Your mom sounds amazing and wise.”
“She was.” He pauses, but it’s not heavy like when he speaks of his father. It’s as if he’d grieved her loss. But not his dad’s.
“Did you have any dreams, Lex?” he asks, bringing the moment back to his mother’s expression.
“To open a café,” I say, telling him what I’ve only ever told Jordyn and Dee.
