He reaches into his backpack and then raises a hand, holding a bottle. “I also brought wine. I know you like sauvignon blanc, right? I was told this is good. It’s already cold too.” When Danny finally looks at me, he freezes. “Jesus, you look hot.” Then, he all but blushes. “Sorry, that probably sounded objectifying as fuck. But you do. You look really pretty. I mean, you always do, but—”
“Thank you,” I cut him off before he starts to squirm more than he already has and before I get more self-conscious.
“Did you do something different with your hair?” he asks. “It’s sorta curly. I like it.”
I cannot believe he noticed this. “Um, yeah. This is natural. Usually, when I wear it down, I straighten it.”
He walks toward me. “Natural suits you.”
I could say the same because I am again appreciating how beautifully unaffected he is. How he doesn’t seem to think about his appearance, how he doesn’t try to style himself or be anyone but who he is. This guy soaped himself down, threw on clothes, and left. There was no hair gel, no flat irons, no fussing over clothing, and no worrying about his appearance because he doesn’t care about that shit. His tussled hair and simple, naturally weathered, long-sleeved red shirt and the way that he carries himself are all irresistible.
“Soup?” I blurt out. “Do you want soup?”
“Starving.”
My hands tremble as I dish out two bowls of the Hungarian mushroom soup, add a squeeze of lemon juice and a heaping spoonful of sour cream to each, and carry them to the table. I’m grateful that he doesn’t seem to notice how I’m shaking. He’s poured us both big—frankly oversize—glasses of wine, and I could hug him for that, as the giant first gulps I take definitely help calm my nerves.
“I baked bread. It’s on the table. It’s probably horrible.”
“It’s probably wonderful.” After Danny sits and starts to eat, he asks me, “So, tell me the truth. You didn’t cook before now? Before you came back to Wake?”
“No, not at all. Why?”
“Because this soup is insane. It’s like velvet.Everythingyou cook is so damn good. How the fuck are you doing this?”
It takes a bit for me to respond to his compliment because I am so staggered by his praise. Before I made my way back to Wake, I barely cooked anything. The love I’ve been receiving is so new and makes me so uncomfortable.
“I don’t know. I research recipes tenfold, so that’s probably it. Watching cooking videos over and over must help.”
“And you’ve fallen in love?” he suggests.
It isn’t easy, but I finally break from his look. “Yes, I have. In more ways than one.”
“Tell me how,” he whispers.
I have to turn away and collect myself before I answer. “With cooking? It’s from the tastes, the smells, the process.” I nervously finish off the last of my bowl. “That sounds dumb, but I had no idea I could be creative. And it feels so wonderful to feed people, to sort of take care of them. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Most of all, I love how food seems to bring people together.”
“Your brunches,” he says simply.
“Yes, my brunches,” I agree.
“Your creativity goes way beyond anything just food-related. You know how to design the fuck out of a house. Let’s not forget that. This place is going to be stunning when it’s done, and that’s all going to be because of you.”
“And because of you.” I raise my glass. “Not just because of the work you’ve done, but also because of how you’ve inspired me.”
Danny takes his time in finishing his soup before he smiles at me. “Have you accepted that not only might you have a natural talent for cooking for the masses, but that you might also have a specific talent for cooking for two?”
“Perhaps.”
Then, I ask him something that’s been in the back of my mind. “I want to know about this house. How it was so taken care of over so many years after my mom abandoned it. The level of devotion just doesn’t make sense.”
After finishing his wine, he looks me dead in the eye. “It’s not that complicated, Callie. You’re family. Always have been. We’ve been waiting for at least one of you to come back, and I’m so glad it’s you.”
“I am too.”
When I take our bowls to the kitchen, I realize that I’m trembling so hard that when I put down the dishes, they pretty much crash into the sink. And my trembling only increases when I feel Danny behind me.
“Sounds like you could use a bit more wine?”
