“Wow!” Rosalie steps into the kitchen. I didn’t even hear her come down the stairs. “This all looks amazing.”
I turn away and discreetly wipe the moisture gathered in my eyes before clearing my throat to answer.
“I’m here to amaze.” I fix her with a bright smile. “You hungry?”
“Yes.” She nods and glances around the kitchen. “What can I do?”
“Open a bottle of wine?”
She moves past me to pick a bottle from her stash, and retrieves two clean glasses from the cupboard. She uncorks the wine and pours herself a glass, leaning back on the counter to watch me dish up two plates.
“Careful,” she warns as I sprinkle grated Romano onto one dish.
I pause, and look to her for clarification. “’Bout what?”
“I could get really used to this personal chef thing.”
Oh. I can’t fight my smile. “Maybe that’s my plan.”
“Is that so?” She chuckles, following me to the table with our glasses.
“Yeah.” I set each plate down, then go back for the garlic bread still wrapped in foil on the stove top. “Step one, make you addicted to my cooking. Maybe then you’ll want to hang out.”
“Hang out?” Her brows lift. The suspicion behind them is clear.
“Yes, hang out. It’s something friends do. I’m sure you’re familiar with the term.”
“You want to be friends?”
“Of course.” I open the foil and slide the bread to her side of the table as I take a seat. “Anyone would be a fool not to want to be your friend.”
“Oh.” She glances down at her plate, and a pinkish hue fills her cheeks. Is it that hard to believe I’d want to be her friend? I instantly hate whoever made her feel otherwise.
After dinner, Rosalie helps package leftovers as I clean the kitchen. When she heads into the living room, a glass of wine in hand, I follow.
“What should we watch?” The game is over, so I pick up the television remote and sit down, patting the sofa cushion beside me before she can escape to what I will now refer to as her reading chair across the room.
“Jackson”—she pins me with a stare—“You don’t have to entertain me.”
I want to.
“One perfect day of relaxation. That’s what I promised you, and the day is not over. Now, don’t argue. A promise is a promise, and I always deliver.”
Maybe I imagine it, but her cheeks turn a shade darker as she comes over and takes a seat on the sofa. Of course, she sits as far away as possible, practically hugging the opposite end of the couch.
I scroll through the channels. “What’s your fancy?”
“I can pick anything I want?” Her brows lift, just slightly, betraying her interest.
“Anything.”
“What if it’s something you’ll hate?” Her lips twist with the start of a devious grin.
“Torture me. Please.” I hand over the remote. “You have full control tonight.”
While she flips through the guide, dozens of channels at her disposal, I go back into the kitchen and uncork a second bottle of wine. When I return, there’s a commercial playing on the screen.
“Find something good?”
