I picked up my fork. “Let’s do this.”
Tasting the macaroni first, my eyes closed as the cheese danced across my taste buds. Oh my God.
The hunger intensified as I got my first taste of the garlic asparagus. I cut a piece of steak and that time, I moaned. Even though I was in heaven, the way it melted in my mouth was sinfully delicious.
I swallowed and opened my eyes. “Saint, this is delicious,” I gushed. “Don’t judge me because I’m about to eat everything on this plate, lick it clean, and then go for seconds.”
He chuckled. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Love it,” I corrected him, popping more macaroni and cheese in my mouth.
“Who taught you how to make this?” I wondered. “I know your grandma taught you how to cook, but who taught you how to make this specifically. I need to thank them.”
“You really want to know?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“The asparagus is my grandmother’s. The steak sauce is my spin on a black pepper sauce I had on vacation. And the macaroni and cheese was just me loving cheese and wanting it to be creamier.”
“Well, bravo.”
He beamed. “Thank you, thank you.”
We ate and talked in the most effortless way. It always felt as if we had known each other for longer than we had. It was in the way he looked at me and the questions he asked of me. It was in the way he made me feel and the way he made me connect. Talking to him, being around him, spending time with him was intoxicating.
He finished before I did, and he watched with pride as I fawned over my last few bites. Sitting back in his chair, he brought his wine glass to his lips. “Now, I have a question for you.”
“Anything,” I told him, forcing myself to eat like a normal person and not gobble the last of my food.
“What was up with your man at the store?”
“I’m sorry about that,” I choked, coughing a little as the steak lodged in the middle of my throat. I held up my finger as I took a gulp of wine. “First, that’s not my man. That was Cameron, a man I used to date. He didn’t take it well when I broke things off.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, it didn’t look like he took it well.”
“He didn’t.” I lifted my shoulders. “But I knew we weren’t right for one another, so I had to end it.”
“And he didn’t agree.”
“No, he thought he wanted to live happily ever after with me, but that wasn’t going to happen.”
He smirked. “So, I was right about you juggling men?”
I shook my head. “I don’t juggle. I’m very clear about what I want and what I don’t want.”
Watching me the entire time, he finished his glass.
“What?” I prodded, eating the last of my asparagus.
“What do you want?”
“Right now, you.”
The slow smile that spread across his face was everything.
“Oh okay, I get it now,” he declared, standing up and grabbing our plates. “You’re trying to have me looking crazy like ol’ boy at the store.”
“What?” I screeched, grabbing our empty wine glasses.
After loading them in the dishwasher, he turned to face me. “You have game. I see it and I respect it.”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression, but I also didn’t want to tell him anything that wasn’t the truth.
“I don’t play games,” I told him as he grabbed a different bottle of wine. “Not like that. I’ll play board games, trivia games, but I don’t play relationship games.”
“Good to know,” he noted, closing the gap between us. “Because I don’t do drama.”
His close proximity and the way his eyes pierced me, I hesitated.
“Will you take this in the living room for me please?” He handed me the wine. “I have something for you.”
I inhaled deeply before turning on my heels. I wandered into the living room and started looking at the art and the photos that decorated the space more carefully. The pictures of him and his family for the longest amount of time. They were all smiling and happy.
I was right, I silently acknowledged. His daddy is fine, too.
A few minutes later, he brought in a plate of what looked like homemade chocolate chip cookies.
“And to be clear,” I burst out, seemingly out of nowhere. “I don’t play games and I don’t do drama.”
“Delayed reaction,” he quipped, placing the cookies on the table.
“I wanted to be clear,” I told him. “I hate what happened at the store. I don’t do drama and I don’t like to date men who do drama. And what happened at the store was dramatic.”
“It was.” He met me at the photo. “But it could’ve been worse.”
“Yes. But it shouldn’t have happened.” I tilted my head to the side. “I’m sorry.”
He put his hands on my hips and pulled me closer to him. “Apology has already been accepted,” he told me, planting a sweet kiss on my lips.
“Good.” I grinned up at him. “Now who is who?”
“That’s Mom, Dad, Grandma—they are in Chicago. That’s Serenity, she’s the oldest. Then there’s me, and then Angel. And the youngest is Heaven.”
“You have a beautiful family.”
“Thank you.” He led me to the couch, and we took a seat. “Now remind me of something. I remembered you didn’t like mushrooms, but I can’t remember you saying if you had siblings.”
“I’m an only child,” I told him.
He rubbed his bearded chin dramatically. “That makes sense.”
“What?”
“Don’t they say only children are spoiled?”
My jaw dropped. “What? You think I’m spoiled?”
“You may not be spoiled, but I can tell you’re used to getting what you want.”
I tried not to smile. “What are you even saying right now?”
“I’m saying that I can tell by the way you move through your life that you get what you want. And I’m not saying anyone handed anything to you. I’m just saying that you move like you’re not used to being told no.”
I bit my bottom lip. “That’s not exactly true.”
He gave me a look. “You’re used to being told no?”
“I would have to ask for permission in order to be told no.”
His eyes danced around my face as he chuckled. “I knew it! I knew it!”
“I got what I wanted growing up, but I had to work for it. My dad was a psychiatrist, so they were very mindful of the only child personality traits. Both of them grew up with siblings.”
“I know you’re close with your mom. Are you close with your aunts and uncles?”
“I have one aunt—my mom’s sister. And one uncle—my dad’s brother. My uncle is a lot like my dad personality wise, but he’s less family oriented and more of a free spirit. My aunt is the opposite of my mom. Physically, they are both beautiful. But my aunt is kind of… a lot.”
“What do you mean?” Saint pressed.