“Wow, I… why? Why are you cooking?”
“I didn’t know I needed a reason,” she says, turning to me with her hand on her hip and a cheeky look in her eyes.
“You don’t, but…”
“I wanted to say thank you,” she says, smiling sweetly. “For yesterday. The shopping, the dinner. I appreciate it, and I really enjoyed myself.”
The genuine warmth flowing from her seeps right into my heart and pauses me for a moment. I swallow away the well of emotions and hurriedly reply, “There is no need to thank you. You just got what you needed.”
She laughs and tilts her head to the side with one of their brows raised. “We both know I got more than what I actually needed.”
I laugh, a low rumbling sound that is unfamiliar to me for a second. Then I realize, damn, it’s been so long since I laughed. But around Stef, I seem to be doing it more often than not.
“Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes if you want to change or anything before. If not… then why don’t you pour us a glass of wine? White.”
“I’ll pour some wine. That’s a good idea,” I say, leaning over her to grab two wine glasses from the top cabinet. Our bodies brush close together, and I catch a whisper of strawberries and vanilla.
“Ice?”
“Two blocks, please,” she says, seemingly unaware of the sparks that shot between us when I was close to her. That, or she’s hiding her reaction very well. It’s not like I didn’t notice the look in her eyes last night, the way her lips parted when mine were close. The way she tilted her head up toward me in anticipation of the kiss.The kiss that I ran away from.
I scoff at myself. I had to run away from the kiss. What good would come of kissing her? It would only cause trouble. Nothing else.
“Are you ok?” Stefania asks me, scrunching her nose.
“Yes? Why?” I answer too abruptly.
“I thought I heard… never mind,” she shrugs, smiling again.
When the food is she sets the table while I carry it through.
We sit opposite each other, discussing the wine’s aromas and citrus notes.
“It’s more tropical than citrus, don’t you think?” she asks, swirling her glass and placing it under her nose.
“I smell lemon, or lime?” I reply, doing the same thing.
“Do you know anything about wine tasting?” she asks.
I chuckle and shake my head sheepishly. “No, nothing at all. I hardly drink the stuff. But I do own a vineyard in the South of Italy.”
This causes a burst of laughter from her. “You own a vineyard? Why? If you don’t even drink wine?”
I shrug and set the glass down, picking up my fork to take another bite of this incredible food.
She waits for me to finish chewing the wheel, then continues swirling her wine and working out the flavors. “You look like you know what you’re doing,” I remark.
“Oh, no, I have no idea. I just saw this in a movie once.”
I burst out laughing, too. “Well, you could have fooled me.”
“Hey, you’re the one who owns a whole vineyard,” she teases.
“I won it in a bet,” I say.
“That’s some bet. A random vineyard. Just rows of grapes?”
“And a quaint little French cottage on a beautiful plot of land. There’s an old couple living there at the moment. The guy who bet the land was a real special case. His parents live there. It was their dream to retire there and live out their older years in peace, but he convinced them to put the land in his name for security reasons. Unfortunately, they didn’t know he had a gambling problem.”
