"I’ve inconvenienced you enough. And some of the time, I’ve beenmadeto inconvenience you against my will," she says rather shrilly, turning away to look out the window. "What a freaking conundrum.”
I fight back a chuckle at her verbiage because it hits me just now that she doesn't curse, something else that endears her to me. She's just sosweet.
“Hey, that’s my lounge!” she says happily, pointing to a brick building.
“Oh, Rosalie’s Cigar and Cocktail Lounge? Yeah, I’ve heard of that place. I’ve been meaning to go there to grab a cigar with my friend, Johnathan, for the last year or so." I glance at her, turning my signal light on and making a right at the light. "Do you like spaghetti?”
Sarah giggles. “Who doesn't? I loovvee a good bolognese,” she mutters, looking at her phone and pulling the doordash app updespite me turning that offer down. “So, can I order some to the house to thank you—“
“No,” I repeat simply. No is a complete sentence, don’t explain yourself, Alexander—“Because you’re my guest, and it’s my responsibility to feed you,” I finish, flinching because mentally I'm just all over the place, and I know it andstillcan’t help myself.
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, slowing to stop at a red light. Together, we watch an older lady cross the street with a tote bag, her cane not doing much to help her. She's so slow.
I turn to face her, since it seems like we're going to be here for a minute. “Since you’re not hungry, I can drop you off at the house so you can rest while I go to the store to grab ingredients to make bolognese.Or,you can come with me…but only if you're up to it." Her eyes flicker from mine to my lips and back again, focused so intently on me that I can't help warming under the collar of my shirt. "It’s been a minute since I made that dish, so I don’t think I’ll have everything at the house. Up to you." I look back at the old woman who is just now making it to the curb. "What are you comfortable with?”
The light turns green, and I pull off again.
“I have a choice?”Sarah snorts in amusement, pausing in looking up from her phone to throw me a teasing look with her pretty mouth twisting up into an amused smile.
I can't help the wicked grin that crosses my face. “You always have a choice, sweetness,” I murmur back, forgetting myself. I suck air through my teeth at the obvious misstep. The second one in less than an hour.
Sweetness?Where thefuckdid that come from? I'd never even had a nickname for Hannah.
Her eyes widen slightly, and I pray to God she doesn’t comment on my nickname for her.
She doesn’t.
“I’ll come. It takes a while to make it correctly anyways, so let’s just get the stuff so we can get started on cooking. I’d like to sit at the island and help chop the ingredients. Um…a bottle of wine sounds nice as well,” she adds hesitantly.
“Now that, Idohave.” I smile, looking over at her appreciatively. She meets mine with one of her own, and I feel myself melting. She really is beautiful. I turn my face forward, saying decisively, "Only way I'll allow you to help is if you take a nap for me afterwards."
Her stare bores into the side of my face, but I don't break and look. "You know, you're kind ofbossy,"she says suddenly, arching an eyebrow when I break and look anyway.
Her sunglasses hide her eyes from me, but I imagine they're full of mirth. "I know," I grin. "But it's for your own good. So, what's it going to be? You gunna take a nap for me?"
God. Thoughts of sleeping in bed with her again fill my mind.
She heaves a deep sigh before shifting in her seat a bit, confirming my fears that we've done too much today. She should be home resting. In my bed. Where I can watch over her.
"I don't think I really have a choice." She half-laughs, looking out the window.
"Nope." I bite back a self-satisfied smile. "But I really wanted to make you think you did. It's the gentlemanly thing to do, after all."
We laugh together, heading to the grocery store.
Chapter eighteen
It's Alex
Anhourlaterwe'reback at the house, and I'm sitting at Alexander's expansive marble island and chopping celery on onecutting board, while he stands across from me cutting up carrots on another cutting board.
We take turns dumping our ingredients into a big bowl, setting it to the side to later add to the sizzling veal and ground beef cooking on the stove. Such a mundane chore, yet all I can think about is how incredibly comfortable I feel right now, and it's helping a lot to keep the tears at bay.
I only cried once: in the bathroom at the apartment when I was praying I could make this transition work.
A chill station is playing over the surround sound, and I'm enjoying myself, even feeling playful, as I attempt to chop the vegetables to the beat of the music. I can't help but smile, finding a rare moment of joy in something I haven’t been able to in such a long time. Brandon never cooked with me nor ate hardly anything I prepared.
Actually, he barely ate with me most days.
