“That’s kind of what I hoped for.”
She pointed toward the truck.
“Get out of here. I’ll see you on Saturday.”
“I can’t wait,” he said, then leaned in and kissed her long enough to promise, short enough to leave her wanting.
Saturday would not come soon enough.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cap felt like a giddy teenager checking his watch every ten minutes. Emma would arrive soon. He hoped she liked salmon; he probably should have asked her when he’d invited her to dinner.
The table was set. He never ate at the dining room table; he always sat at the island, but he wanted this meal to be special.
He glanced out the window facing the driveway. Nothing yet. Then, he heard a vehicle engine and looked again. Emma. He rushed to meet her at the door.
“Hi,” he said.
A lovely smile stretched across her sun-kissed cheeks. She wore a hot pink tank top and a navy skirt. Pink looked nice on her. Her long hair was pulled into a messy bun, but she left a few strands of hair down, framing her face. She looked beautiful.
“Hello,” she replied as she walked toward him.
He gave her a light peck on the cheek and motioned for her to come inside.
Once in the kitchen, she set her small handbag on the counter.
“I hope you like salmon.”
“I love it.”
“Great. It’s on the smoker grill right now and should be done in a few minutes.”
“It’s gorgeous outside. Have you been able to get out at all?” she asked.
“A little here and there. I’m not cleared to drive yet, so I have to rely on my family to get me out of the house. Admittedly, I’ve gotten a little stir-crazy.”
“I would imagine.”
Beep, beep, beep…
Cap spun and turned off the timer he’d set for the fish to cook. The quick action sent a sharp jolt to his torso, reminding him he’d recently had surgery and still needed to be cognizant of his movements.
“That’s for the fish. I’ll go get it. Be right back.”
By the time he’d returned to the kitchen, Emma had opened the bottle of wine he’d set on the table, and she’d filled their glasses. He had taken no painkillers in days, so he assumed a little wine wouldn’t hurt anything. Plus, it might help calm his nerves.
He set the fish on the counter, opened the foil and scraped the fat off the salmon. He put it on a serving dish. Next, he opened the oven and pulled out the pan of roasted vegetables which he transferred to a serving plate.
The rye bread he’d buttered earlier was already in a basket on the table.
“Everything is ready,” he said as he carried the serving dishes to the dining room table.
They sat opposite each other.
He watched as Emma took her first bite, hoping she’d like it.
“Mmm, this is amazing. What is in the sauce?” she asked.
