Wyattfulfilled so many depleted places of me that it was honestly hard to comprehendhow whole I felt. Maybe for the first time in my entire life, I felt like mycareer wasn’t the shining star of my life and that maybe, possibly, there wasmore to me than just cooking.
Wyattseemed to think that anyway.
AndI also knew that one person could not fulfill all my emotional, physical, andspiritual needs. I knew I had a lot of work to do to make myself whole. But Ialso knew that Wyatt was a good place to start. And he would be a goodcheerleader as I waded through the rest of the bog and tackled my issues one byone.
Thiswasn’t only a new relationship. This was a new beginning for me. And with Wyattby my side, I finally believed I could start over. I knew we could tackle thislife together and take whatever we wanted from it.
Heslid into bed beside me, burrowing beneath the comforter too. I mourned theloss of his body on display, but the quiche was so hot it was steaming. Ifigured that was a dangerous game to play with all our bits on display.
Iaccepted the massive plate of food from him. “Good thing I’m starving,” I toldhim.
Hewaggled his eyebrows at me. “I figured we worked up a pretty good appetite.”
“Goodpoint.”
Isettled the plate on my lap, the bottom of it burning through the blankets to warmmy legs. The heat felt good, and the quiche was everything it should be. Lightand fluffy, packed with veggies and bacon. The crust turned out exactly right.Apparently, Wyatt hadn’t been lying. He knew how to cook an amazing quiche.
Smilingaround my first bite, I realized I shouldn’t have been surprised. The man couldliterally do anything he put his mind to. However, quiche was such a strangedish to claim. I had expected him to have signature short ribs or beefbourguignon. Instead, it was quiche. And adorable.
And ittasted amazing. “Yum.”
Henudged me with his elbow. “Told you.”
“Mmm,”I agreed around another bite of too-hot deliciousness. “Maybe tomorrow you canmake me a casserole. You know, round out your style for me.”
Hisrumbly laugh filled the room and he leaned over and bit my bare shoulder. “Maybeyou should cook for me tomorrow,” he suggested.
“Youalready judge my cooking every night,” I reminded him. “At least I didn’t yellat you across the house.”
“Inever yell at you.”
“Umm,sometimes you do.”
“MaybeI raise my voice, but it’s never out of anger.”
Ilifted an eyebrow and gave him a look. “What is it out of then?”
“Sexualfrustration?”
Shakingmy head at him, I laughed again. “Does that mean you’ll be cool as a cucumberfrom now on?”
Hestuck out his lower lip and thought about it. “Maybe,” he conceded. “As long asyou keep me satisfied.”
Ithought about calling him on his bologna, but I was having too much fun razzinghim. “Great,” I sighed. “Lilou’s going to implode, all because Wyatt is finallygetting laid consistently.”
“Hey,if I had to choose one or the other, pretty sure I’m going with getting laid.”
“Itdoesn’t matter to me,” I laughed, “I won’t be there for much longer anyway.” Assoon as the words were out of my mouth I wanted to shove them back in.Abort, abort!blared through my head,but it was too late.
I’dalready said the stupid thing.
AndWyatt picked up on it immediately.
Heset his plate down and slowly turned to face me. The humor had drained out ofhis expression and his eyes were that swirling storm I knew to be carefularound. “What does that mean?” he demanded.
Itook another bite of quiche and hummed my approval at the delightful ratio ofbacon to mushrooms. “This is so good, chef. I can’t believe how good it is.”
“Don’ttry to sweet talk me now, Swift. Spit it out.”
