I grimaced. "I eat out a lot."
"Clearly." She closed the fridge. "We need to go shopping. Come on."
Twenty minutes later, we were back from Peak Provisions with pasta, sauce ingredients, and garlic bread. She unpacked while I refilled our wine glasses from the bottle we'd opened earlier.
"Can I help?"
"You can stay out of my way."
"It's my kitchen."
"And when's the last time you actually used it?"
"Fair point."
She let me chop garlic—under strict supervision—and I only nearly cut myself once. When I reached for the salt, she intercepted.
"How much were you about to use?"
"Enough to salt the water?"
"That's half the container!"
"You said salt the water!"
"A tablespoon, not a cup!" She was laughing, taking it from me. "Have you really never cooked before?"
"Not since I was a kid helping my mom."
"New rule. You're banned from all seasonings."
"I can follow instructions."
"Can you though?"
We moved around each other in the limited space, hips bumping, reaching for the same utensil. She let me taste the sauce, and I watched her work—comfortable and confident in my kitchen in a way I'd never been.
Over dinner at my rarely-used dining table, the conversation flowed easily. She asked about furniture making, about the walnut dining table commission I was working on. I asked about her analytics work, and she lit up talking about engagement patterns and marketing strategy in a way that made it clear she genuinely loved that side of things.
"Drew always made me feel dumb," she admitted over her second glass of wine. "Like I was just the pretty face and he was the brains. But I was the one tracking all our metrics, planning our content calendar, managing partnerships."
"He was intimidated by you," I said. "Guys like that need their partners smaller so they feel bigger."
She studied me across the table. "You're not like that."
"I'm forty-two. I'm past the age where I need to diminish someone else to feel good about myself."
"How old were you when you got married?"
"I was thirty-two. Sutton was twenty-nine." I swirled the wine in my glass. "I thought the age gap made me more mature. Turns out it just meant I ignored red flags because I was flattered by the attention."
"What were the red flags?"
"She cared more about what make of car I drove than what I was actually building. Wanted me to go to parties and events instead of working. Got angry when I chose the company over her social calendar." I set down my glass. "I should have seen it. But I was too focused on building Pinnacle to notice my marriage was falling apart."
I'd said too much. Candi's brow furrowed.
"Pinnacle?"
