Cadence's words about giving him a chance echo through my mind. I know I'll lose the bet. Mr. Foster will likely adopt the nicknameGabeif his favorite novelist calls him that. He won't get pissed, that I know for sure.
"You have a bet." I hold out my hand. "Dinner tomorrow it is."
He wraps his hand around mine and raises it to his mouth. His soft lips trace a path over my palm just as he leans in and whispers, "I can't wait to cook for you tomorrow."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nicholas
"You didn't complainabout the menu, Sophia." I hold back a smile. "Thank you for that."
She skims a white linen napkin over her lips. "Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches are two of my favorite things. It was snowing on my way over, so I can't think of anything more perfect to eat on a night like tonight."
You. You'd be perfect to eat on a night like tonight.
"I made the soup from scratch." I look over my shoulder at the mountain of dishes in the sink. "I want you to know that I didn't just open a can of soup and pour it into a pot."
Her gaze follows mine and she visibly cringes at the sight of the work she thinks I have ahead of me. I won't be touching a single dirty dish. I'll leave them until tomorrow when the cleaning staff I hired comes in for one of their twice weekly visits. They'll have the kitchen looking like polished perfection within an hour. "I can help with those, Nicholas. I have lots of experience washing dishes."
"It would be a crime to wash dishes in that dress." I take a swallow of the wine she brought with her. Surprisingly, it pairs perfectly with our modest meal. "If you're offering to do them in the nude, the dish soap is under the sink."
A blush sprints up her slender neck to her cheeks. "I don't wash dishes in the nude."
"There's a first time for everything."
The tip of her tongue slicks her bottom lip as her gaze drops to the emerald green sheath dress she's wearing. "I'll skip the dishes."
"Fair enough." I pour more wine into both our glasses. "I saw you eyeing the piano before dinner. I'd love a private concert."
She had stopped to run her index finger along the keys shortly after I invited her in. I'd texted her earlier, offering to send a car to pick her up but she was adamant about coming here on her own. I gave her my address and paced my apartment for an hour before she finally texted me to say she was in the lobby. Once she was at my door and I took her coat, I saw the tension in her shoulders. She's relaxed now, but her guard is still up. That's evident in the way her knee high black boots are tapping a rhythmic beat on the hardwood floor.
"I haven't played in a while." She sets her elbow on the table. "I think I could manage a little something."
I'll take anything I can get. I want her to feel at ease. "Whenever you're ready, the piano is all yours."
"I wish," she says as she stands. "A piano is the first thing on my list when I make it big in the fashion world. No, wait, it's the second. First, I'll get a place of my own that overlooks the city and then I'll buy a piano that I'll put right in front of the window so I can look out at New York while I play."
I have both of those things now and can't say that I appreciate either that much. The piano came with the apartment. I'd debated having it carted out after I moved in, butit brings a touch of sophistication to the space that I like. My brothers keep telling me that it's a waste to have it here, but I've never viewed it that way. It's a reminder of the summer I took piano lessons when I was ten-years-old. It's the only thing I've ever quit. One day I'll take it up again and prove to myself that my dad's words about reaching and attaining the impossible are true. I just need to get my fingers to cooperate.
"So you've never learned how to play?" She motions toward the main room where the piano is. "How can you not when you have that staring you in the face every day?"
"I'd like to learn," I say as I watch the sway of her ass as she walks through my apartment. "Maybe you can teach me sometime."
"I'm a horrible teacher." She looks back over her shoulder at me, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I don't have the patience. I wish I did."
"We could do a trial run." I inch up behind her as she stands next to the baby grand piano. "One lesson and if I'm hopeless, you'll give up."
"I'll consider it." She touches the bench in front of the piano. "May I?"
"Please." I study her profile as she sits in place, the hem of her dress tucked under her knees.
"This piano is exquisite." She runs her finger along the gentle curve of the music rack. "The one I used to play back home in Florida looked like it came out of a saloon from the 1920s."
I stop mid-sip of my wine to laugh. "Why can I picture that?"
She laughs, her gaze still riveted to the keys. "It was like it belonged on the set of an old western movie. It was never tuned properly so I did the best I could. My music teacher had the piano of my dreams, or so I thought until today."
"You can come over and play this one whenever you want." I deliberately keep my tone light. "I'm not one to turn down a private performance by my favorite dress designer."
