She might’ve done it all the time for one of her exes. The notion sat with me as well as rancid almond butter. Based on her reaction, the bastard—or bastards—hadn’t appreciated her effort. If she cooked for me like this all the time I’d handle the cleanup, then draw her one of the bubble baths she seemed to like so much, lick her all over until…
Shrugging, Emily sprinkled chopped parsley over the shrimp scampi and took the plates to the dining room. I grabbed some utensils and helped her set the table, and she immediately returned to the kitchen to take the garlic bread out of the oven.
“Get the wine for me, would you?” she said.
I took out the bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge, uncorked it and handed it to her. While she placed it on the table, I grabbed two wine glasses.
“Perfect.” She smiled. “We have everything.”
I smiled too. It was such a sweetly domestic scene. I hadn’t experienced this much. My exes had been too busy to bother, and I realized I liked it a lot more than I’d expected.
I pulled out a chair for Emily, and she sat down.
“No salad or veggies?” I asked, half curious and half teasing, as I settled in my seat. I started to pour wine.
“We have plenty of greens.”
“Where?”
“Here.” She pointed at some parsley bits with her fork. “See how green that is? And garlic is considered a vegetable, I’m sure. Some kind of vegan thing, anyway. It doesn’t come from dead animals.”
I laughed. “You eat like a kid.”
“Don’t knock it. This is a tasty way to eat, and tasty food reduces stress, which is good for you.”
Food wasn’t the only thing good for me. The company was pretty fine, too. Her pleased smile, the way she said what was on her mind…
We clinked our glasses. “To a neighbor who lets me borrow her hot water.”
“To a neighbor who heroically took care of a dastardly snake monster.”
The wine was delicious, and the food was even better. I knew it’d be good, but not this good. “Damn.”
“Told ya. I’m awesome.”
“Did you secretly mock my breakfast because you could do better?”
She laughed. “No. I totally appreciated that because I don’t like to cook breakfast.” She took a small bite of her bread, then sighed softly. “Dad always left too early, and I was rushed in the morning too. But in the evening, I cooked.” She sounded wistful.
“Lucky him,” I said.
The soft look in her face vanished and was replaced with the hint of a sneer. “Yeah. Lucky him.” From the way she gazed at her pasta, I wasn’t sure if she realized the change in her expression. “He sure is a lucky guy.”
There was a story there, but I didn’t probe. It probably wasn’t a happy one. We all had things we didn’t want to think about, much less talk about. Now I wished I’d agreed to have her buy me dinner. Then maybe her eyes wouldn’t have been so narrow because of old, unpleasant memories.
An impulse to kiss her and make her think about something other than the past tugged at me. Shockingly, it was less sexual and more on the caring side. Yes, I was attracted to her, but the need to make her smile was the primary driver and motivation. The realization startled me because I’d never had such desire, not even for Caitlyn.
Time to change the subject. “Well, I’m lucky too. Because I’m here in my favorite place in the world with a clever romance writer with a secret talent for cooking.”
The unhappiness in her eyes dissipated. “Kingstree is your favorite place?”
I nodded.
“Not the Maldives or whatever super-secret, ultra-luxurious resorts the rich and famous go to for their media-free vacation?”
“What do you know about those places?” I asked. My money and fame opened doors to all that I wanted, things I hadn’t even known existed.
“I’ve written about billionaires, and I do my research. Those places looked nice. Very exclusive.”