“I could definitely go for some wine.” She smiles and my heart squeezes. I love how she looks sitting at my kitchen table like she belongs here.
“How was your day?” she asks, accepting the glass and takes an appreciative sip.
“I only had one appointment this morning, that only took a couple of hours. I didn’t schedule anything this afternoon so I would have time to go to the grocery store and prep for dinner. I wanted to have everything ready so we can just enjoy our time together without me standing at the stove,” I answer, carrying the hot serving dish to the table.
We sit in companionable silence as we fill our plates and begin to eat. The recipe is simple but flavourful – I hope she likes it.
“Oh my god, this is delicious. How did you learn to cook?” She hums as she takes another bite.
Sitting back, I wipe my mouth. “After quitting school, I was completely directionless. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. My path had been completely laid out for me, and then, over the course of a few days, I literally blew it up. Between the education fund my parents had set up for me and scholarships, I didn’t really worry about money. Then suddenly, that financial security was gone, and I had to figure out what I was going to do to support myself. I found a job working in the kitchen at a steakhouse. The only restaurant experience I had was washing dishes and sweeping the floor at Maggie’s, but it was enough to get my foot in the door. I worked there as a prep and station chef and learned the basics. What I didn’t learn on the job, I taught myself. YouTube helped.”
“Well, good job, this is seriously amazing.”
“Thank you, I’m glad you like it.” Smiling at her praise, I ask, “How was art class the other night? Were any new masterpieces created?”
“You know it. Those kids are amazing.” I listen as she shares about each child and what their strengths are. I love the way her face lights up when she talks about them. She is so passionate about art and the gallery. I hope they know how fortunate they are to have her in their lives.
When we are finished eating, I stand, grabbing our plates and take them to the dishwasher.
“I can help.” She starts to get up to clear the table.
“No, you sit and enjoy your wine, this will only take me a few minutes,” I say over my shoulder.
“Can I ask you a question?” she asks quietly.
“Absolutely.” Closing the dishwasher door, I turn towards her.
“Have you been back to Emerley since you left?” she asks, swirling the wine in her glass.
Fuck, I should have told her before she had to ask. Rubbing the back of my neck, I confess, “A couple of times. I came back once when my mom moved away to grab the rest of my stuff. Then again, a few years later for Riot. He was spiraling about Claire moving home with a baby on board, so I made a quick trip home to see him.”
“Oh. Yeah, I remember he took it hard. He didn’t tell me you were here, though.”
“I’m sorry. I should have reached out. I saw you walking with Meg downtown. I wanted to talk to you so badly, but I didn’t know what to say. I thought it was better to just keep my distance.”
“I know, it’s just hard to hear.” I watch her bite her bottom lip and slightly nod. “You don’t owe me an explanation, it was a long time ago, and we weren’t together anymore,” she says, shutting down any further discussion. It’s moments like this that I want to ignore her boundaries and tell her everything. Make her listen and risk it all blowing up in my face.
“Do you want to go into the living room? We can eat our dessert in there and talk. I picked up butter tarts from Maggie’s.”
“Sure, that sounds great.” She rises from her chair and picks up her glass. Walking ahead of me, she suddenly stops short. “Well, this is presumptuous of you.”
“What?” I peer over her shoulder to see what she’s looking at. “Oh, for fuck’s sake I promise I didn’t invite you for that.” Setting down the plate on the coffee table I pick up the offensive blankets and drape them over the back of the couch, glaring at my trouble making dog currently watching us from the armchair beside the front window. “Morgan can’t leave them on thefurniture. He’s constantly pulling blankets and pillows off the couch and spreading them across the floor.”
“Likely story.” She huffs, shaking her head. “Blame the poor dog.”
“Maybe he’s just trying to be my wing man.” I shrug my palms in the air, winking at her.
“You are ridiculous,” she says, gently shoving my shoulder before curling up on the couch.
After throwing a piece of wood in the fire, I take a seat at the end of the couch and angle my body towards her, carefully leaving a cushion between us. If I could, I would reach over and pull her up onto my lap. These brief, casual touches are not nearly enough for me.
“So, I heard some interesting gossip about myself this week,” I tell her as I drape my arm along the back of the couch.
“Oh yeah? Anything good?” she asks before taking a bite of the gooey tart. I watch her run her fingertip along her lip to catch a drip and suck it off. Internally I groan. Get your head out of the gutter and let the woman enjoy her food without being a pervert. I try to wipe the image from my mind before telling her my story.
“Mason stopped by the shop to tell me that the police station had an anonymous tip that I belonged to a 1% motorcycle club, and they were concerned that I was going to bring illegal activities to the area.” I chuckle at the ridiculousness of it.
“Fuck off. That did not happen!” She gasps, leaning back with wide eyes.
