NicTomatoes, onions, red wine, bay leaves . . .
what the hell am I forgetting?
I’ve scanned my pantry twenty times now, racking my brain to make sure I’m not missing any ingredients for my date with Elle tonight. Not that that’s really possible. I’ve already made three sepa- rate grocery runs, just to be safe.
I don’t normally cook for other people. Not ever, really. I cook for myself all the time, but it’s never been a skill I’ve wanted to use to woo a woman. Hell, I don’t woo women at all . . . at least, not in my personal life.
But from the moment I decided to take Elle on a proper date, I knew it had to be special. And cooking for someone—in my own home, no less— is definitely not something I’ve ever done for a
woman before. But when the idea popped into my head, I knew it was perfect.
My place looks better now than it has for months, that’s for sure. I’m no slob, but when no one is around to see it, I don’t stay quite as on top of my scrubbing and dusting as I should. Until to- day, that is. I spent at least four hours deep cleaning every inch of my apartment. And I have to admit, it cleans up pretty damn good.
I lift the lid slightly on the large pot simmering on the stove. My mouth waters at the aroma, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of Elle walk- ing through my door and doing the same. Half the reason I decided to cook for her was to impress her with my domestic charm. But the other half of the reason? No part of me wants to take Elle in public and share her with other people. All I want is to have her here in my space, just the two of us.
Pecorino. That’s what I’m forgetting. I quickly open my fridge and find a small wedge of the hard, pale cheese sitting in a drawer. Thank God I stay so true to my Italian roots.
A knock on the door makes my stomach drop.
She’s here.
I can’t tell if I’m excited or nervous. But my
heart is hammering away, and my insides feel like someone twisted them with a fork.
Her effect on me is totally out of the ordinary— yet so damn invigorating at the same time. It’s been a long-ass time since I’ve felt anything other than a professional duty to a woman, and I realize I’ve missed that feeling more than I care to admit.
Before opening the door, I check my reflection in the hallway mirror, pushing a few stray hairs back into place. It’s go time.
When I open the door, my heart skips a beat. Elle’s gorgeous. Somehow even more gorgeous than the last time I saw her.
She smiles and self-consciously tucks her hair behind her ear. “I’m so glad this is you. I was wor- ried I’d be banging on the wrong door.” She chuck- les, a slight blush creeping over her chest.
I drink in the sight of her, my mouth twitch- ing with a smile. She’s beautiful. Real. Adorable as fuck.
“Well, I’m glad you found me,” I say, leaning in and placing a kiss on her cheek. I usher her in- side, guiding her to the kitchen with my hand rest- ing against the small of her back.
Elle’s blue eyes widen as she takes in the cityscape view from the back wall of windows. “This place is amazing. Your line of work must pay really well, doesn’t it? Maybe I need to rethink my law aspirations and go into finance,” she says, and a small chuckle escapes those gorgeous lips.
My own smile falters for a second. My “fi- nance” job isn’t exactly the reminder I need at this moment.
“Here, let me take your purse.”
For a second, I consider putting it in my bed- room like I would at a party. But ending the night by retrieving her purse from my bed would only lead to one thing. I don’t want her to feel pressured to do anything she’s not ready for, and I don’t want to tempt myself even further. So I place her purse on the couch and return to the kitchen to check on the sauce.
I find Elle leaning against my granite counter- top and admiring the view, her position showing off her supple curves. My pulse is racing, and I’m suddenly aware of how nervous I am in her pres- ence.
I haven’t gotten this worked up over a woman in years. What the fuck is going on with me? This
date was supposed to help quell these feelings, not make them worse.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
Her gaze travels to me, the corner of her mouth lifting into a half smile. How does her every move manage to be sexy?
“That would be lovely.”
I pull a couple of glasses down from the shelf and pour us each a sparkling water with a slice of lemon. Elle laughs, covering her face with her hands and shaking her head.
“I’m never going to live that night down, am
I?”
I hand her a glass, and we clink glasses before
taking a sip.
“That night was my fault. And I’m not making the mistake of overserving you again. Seeing you in so much discomfort and knowing I could have stopped it from happening . . . not my proudest mo- ment.”
“Are you kidding? I’m the lightweight who should have known better than to keep downing glass after glass of champagne.”
“We’ll call it a tie, then,” I say, making my way around the island to stand next to her, our arms lightly brushing.
Elle turns to me and raises her glass for a toast, and I raise mine to join her.
“Cheers. To getting to know each other better,” she says, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight.
“And to new beginnings,” I add.
Our eyes lock as our glasses clink, and we each take a sip. Elle smiles at my addition, but the words feel more serious to me. I know she doesn’t understand their weight for me, but I mean them. Something about this woman makes me want to turn over a new leaf. Even if that means taking a massive pay cut for a few months while I find a different line of work.
“So, the sauce needs to simmer for another twenty minutes or so. Why don’t you take a seat by the windows, and I’ll grab us some bread with olive oil?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Elle settles into one of the plush chairs by the windows while I slice a few pieces of fresh, rustic Italian bread. Pouring the oil onto a small dish, I
watch her admire the view for the second time this evening. My breath catches when I look at her.
Get a fucking grip, man.
Honestly, I’m starting to think it’s a miracle she can’t read me like an open book. Otherwise, I’d be eating out of the palm of her hand, even though I’m normally the one who has that effect on people.
I join her by the windows, setting the bread and oil on the small round table between us.
Our conversation flows easily, just like it did when we met for coffee. All the nerves weigh- ing me down when Elle first got here slowly fade away. Being in her presence still puts me on edge, but talking with her reminds me how natural our connection is.
I don’t have to pretend when I’m with her. And given what I do for a living, that makes her feel like a cool drink of water on the hottest day of the year. I can just be myself.
“So, Nic,” Elle says after a brief pause in the conversation, leaning toward me. “Long term, where do you see yourself? Like, if money didn’t matter, if nothing mattered except what you want- ed to do, what would you do?”
The question takes me by surprise. Not that anything with Elle should surprise me anymore. Of course she knows just which question to ask to bring my walls down.
“Long term? I mean, I do want to settle down one day, even if that seems impossible with my job right now. Because my hours are so crazy,” I quick- ly add. I don’t think Elle suspects anything about the truth of what I do, but I’m not about to take any chances of that knowledge slipping out.
“Okay, so, say you do settle down. Do you want to stay in this job forever, or is there something else you want to do?”
I chuckle. If she only knew. “I’d definitely be
doing something different.”
I’ve already told her about my dream, but this time, I elaborate, telling her about my favor- ite types of architecture and the classes I’ve taken at the community college. I look up to find Elle staring at me, a soft smile on her pretty lips. Her expression is a mix of sympathy and admiration. It makes me feel amazing and embarrassed at the same time.
Sighing, I run my hand over my face. “Sorry for the monologue.”
Way to kill the fucking mood, Nic.
But Elle reaches out and takes my hand in hers. “Don’t apologize. Thank you for sharing. That’s a really beautiful dream, and I hope you’re able to make it come true one day.”
We lock eyes, the warmth of the connection be- tween us radiating to my toes. This time it’s Elle who looks away first, shaking her head and chuck- ling softly.
“Just like me and the bar exam, I guess. Only I think my dream is a little more hopeless.”
I run my thumb over her knuckles. “Don’t say that. You’ll take the bar one day, when you’re ready. I know you’d make an incredible lawyer.”
She snorts. “You’re sweet. But at this point, I’m starting to think I’m going to need to hire someone to take the bar for me. I can’t even think about sign- ing up for that thing without getting all queasy.”
I squeeze her hand and decide to drop the sub- ject. The last thing I need is to make her ill for the second time on one of our dates.
“Well then, let’s turn your attention to some- thing a little less nausea-inducing. Tell me some- thing about yourself that might surprise me.”
Elle smiles and tosses a glossy lock of her au- burn hair over her shoulder. “Well, that depends. What do you want to know?” she asks, her big blue eyes trained on mine.
More than I’d like to admit.
My mouth twists into a grin, and I lean toward her. “Just about everything.”
“In that case . . .”
She begins telling me a story about the time she almost killed her class hamster in second grade, and by the end of it, the two of us are practically rolling on the floor laughing. We take turns exchanging stories from when we were young, each one more bizarre and endearing than the last.
My sides are starting to hurt from laughing so much. I can’t believe how comfortable things are with her, how amazing this date is already going, and we haven’t even started eating yet. There’s no way I’m letting this girl go, not when every bone in my body is screaming that I’ll never find anyone like her ever again.
But when Elle finds out the truth about what Christine hired me to do—will she still be here laughing with me? Or will she go home, wishing she’d never met me in the first place?