“You don’t owe me any kind of explanation, Cole,” I say, the words tumbling free before I can catch them.
“No, I know that. I just…for the first time, possibly ever, I want to tell you. I want you to know me. The real me. All the ugly bits that make me the person I am today.”
“There’s nothing ugly about you,” I assure him.
He mutters something unintelligible before starting the engine and putting the car into drive.
“So what’s for dinner then?” I ask as he pulls out.
“I know the perfect place.”
As he drives, he keeps the conversation light and away from talk of his past and reasons for volunteering at the shelter. As much as I might want to know, I respect him and trust that if he wants me to know, he’ll tell me when he’s ready.
Before long, we’re pulling into a steakhouse on the outskirts of town. It’s fairly quiet, and he pulls into a parking space almost right outside the doors.
The second we walk inside, the scent hits me, and my stomach grumbles. We might have spent all afternoon surrounded by food, but neither of us ate a single bite of it. There were people in much greater need than us.
We both eagerly take the menus from the server, and after she fills our water glasses, we focus on filling our stomachs.
I decide what I want quickly, and only a few minutes later, the server returns to take our order. He quickly writes down my filet steak with a side of fries and sauteed mushrooms before turning to Cole, who, I swear, orders almost half the menu.
“What’s that look for?” he asks once we’re alone again.
My stomach knots uncomfortably. “Am I feeding you enough?”
He tries to fight his reaction, but he can’t keep the smile off his face.
“Yes, you’re feeding me enough. Trust me, if you weren’t, I’d tell you.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,” he says as he reaches for his water glass and drinks it down.
“And you’re happy with the meals I’m making and how I cook it all and?—”
“You’re incredible,” he interrupts.
I’m not sure where my sudden bout of nerves comes from. Maybe it’s because we’re about to sit together and eat a meal made by a real chef that’s put me on edge. But whatever it is, I don’t like it. And from the way Cole is looking at me, I don’t think he does either.
“Everything you’ve done so far has been great. You have nothing to worry about.”
My shoulders relax, and I reach for my own glass.
“Would you like a glass of wine with your meal?”
“No,” I say in a rush, making him laugh.
“Too soon?” he teases.
“Much too soon,” I mutter, remembering this morning’s hangover and events all too clearly.
Silence falls, but it’s not uncomfortable, as we both lose ourselves in our thoughts.
I startle when Cole suddenly speaks—and the words that burst from his lips shock the hell out of me.
26
COLE
