“And it kick-started your heart into realizing you felt the same,” Angelina added.
“I think I do.”
“He kissed you, then left, giving you room to figure things out. So that’s what needs to happen,” Marietta finished.
“But what if I do want more with him and I take too long to give him an answer? I can’t just waltz into TriVolt tomorrow and confess some long-repressed feelings.”
“Then I’d suggest you figure things out quickly. Show him how you feel,” Rose said, shrugging. “Haven’t you waited long enough to be happy?”
Chapter 18
Iglared at theoffending chicken breast on my kitchen counter, wondering if the pitiful protein was salvageable. After I’d pounded the chicken into a strip thinner than a piece of paper, the meat tenderizer lay useless beside the cutting board, while the chicken barely hung on to life support. Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but the issue remained that I’d massacred the breast for the Cordon bleu instead of simply tenderizing it.
After washing my hands, I checked the recipe before flipping to one that called for thinly pounded chicken. Were cutlets a better choice than chicken stuffed with cheese and fancy pork? My wayward emotions could be a sign from above saying my first recipe choice made it seem like I was trying too hard to impress—but I was, right?
Miller should appreciate that I was willingly cooking with dairy—not that he’d ever complained about being subjected to vegan butter and almond milk.
Tonight, covertly disguised as a simple dinner, was my opportunity to talk to him. I didn’t want more convoluted kisses or partial confessions. Things needed to be spelled out plainly in black and white—no more shades of gray.
He’d put the idea ofusout there the night we kissed, then made himself scarce to give me the time I craved to figure things out. At first, I shot down his declaration faster than Robin Hood with an arrow, but after talking with the girls and recovering from a massive hangover, I sorted my priorities.
All of my priorities.
Sure, I deflected when Miller first broached the subject of dating weeks ago, but the idea he planted remained behind, setting down roots somewhere south of my heart and blooming into vines and flowers that crept into my mind.
His actions were in direct conflict with his words. His words spoke of casual sex and no-strings fun, while his actions showed a deeply caring man who went out of his way toshowme how he felt.
How could I not want more with someone like that?
How could I have been so blind upon realizing his behavior was more than likely a direct result of my constant reminders about us just remaining friends?
Shit.
A second piece of chicken had fallen under my heavy-handed tenderizing, and I rubbed the back of my hand across my brow before taking the bookmark from the chicken Cordon bleu—that meal was an epic failure. Perhaps the pork could be a garnish on the salad? Chicken cutlets with a light lemon caper sauce could work. My sides and dessert wouldn’t have to change, since the potatoes were already in the oven and carrots resting on the stovetop.
I searched the fridge for the ingredients as Minerva whined from her bed in the corner. Rolling my eyes, I washed my hands, cut one prosciutto slice into tiny pieces, and dropped them into her bowl. She stared at the offering as I organized the ingredients from the fridge.
“Don’t look at me like that, Missy,” I said, turning to see her still staring at the meat.
“It’s not the fancy stuff you’re used to, but you had duck for breakfast, and too much fatty meat is bad for your heart. Any more of your whining, and you’ll get only carrots for dinner.”
I’d be surprised if this cat had high emotional intelligence, but she still managed to look at me with casual cruelty despite the meat treat and the threat of vegetables.
Snarky beast.
After beating the remaining chicken into submission and letting it rest in the fridge, I retreated to the bedroom. I set my clothes on the chair beside my vanity and lay face down on the bed among the pillows. I pulled the comforter to my neck and sighed.
Perhaps a ten-minute power nap before my shower would set me to rights.
Minerva meowed, following me into the room and jumping to the edge of the bed.
“I know you know how to control the volume on that noise, soplease, Minnie, let me close my eyes for a second.”
She meowed unhelpfully again, and I groaned, pulling the comforter higher until it stretched over my head.
“I mean it,” I growled beneath my goose-down barrier, hoping the firmness of my voice would convince Minerva to leave me in peace. “Ten minutes is not too much to ask for.”
My feline took the tone of voice to mean that now was the perfect time to launch herself from the end of the bed to my back with a yowl, causing me to shriek as she dug her nails into the soft comforter. The little needle claws barely grazed my skin, but I still propped my head up and wiggled my butt, hoping to discourage her from using my back as a scratching post.
