She shrugs and smiles at me. “No need to be sorry. I was blessed from the moment they brought me home.”
“You were adopted?”
“Yes, when I was a toddler. I can’t remember much of anything from before, but I ended up with parents who never let me forget I was wanted and loved. Many can’t say the same.”
Isn’t that the truth? I still have both my parents—my birth parents—but wouldn’t say I was blessed with them. I’m sure they’d say the same about me, I am the disappointment in the family, the blotch on an otherwise flawless family record.
“I’m glad you had that.”
“Me too. What about you? Your parents still around?”
It’s not that I don’t want to answer, it’s that if I do I’ll need more time.
“They are, but that might be a bit of a long story, which…I’m happy to tell you over dinner later. If you’re free?” I add.
“Oh. Uh, I have that report to write…”
“And I have to head into the station for a few hours this afternoon,” I interject before she can say no. “But how about a later dinner? I can pick you up around seven? Seven thirty?”
Her eyes drop down to the ground at her feet and I’m almost convinced she’s trying to find a way out of it. It would really fucking suck if it turns out I’ve misread the signs.
“Why don’t you come here? I’ll make us dinner. Do you like salmon? I have a large fillet I’ve been wanting to cook.”
“I thought you were a vegetarian?”
She grins as she looks up at me. “In spirit mostly. I sometimes eat fish,” she clarifies. “And I’ll occasionally eat game. I just prefer organic foods and fairly hunted protein, like fish or venison.”
At my mumbled, “Remind me never to order a steak in front of you,” she snickers before responding.
“You do you. I decided years ago I wanted to make choices that are better for me and have less environmental impact, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to force my choices on anyone else. That’s the last thing I want to do.”
I toss back the remainder of the coffee and set the mug down.
“Good to know and I happen to love salmon, but I’m not a fan of mushrooms.”
“Figured that one out on my own,” she says with a teasing smile.
Chapter 8
Meredith
I’m driving me nuts.
I’ve been second-guessing myself since offering to cook Jay dinner earlier. Technically he was the one extending an invitation, but I had to open my big mouth and ask him into my home. My sanctuary. It would’ve been smarter to agree to meet him at a restaurant somewhere. I could’ve come and gone on my own schedule, but by asking him here I’ve handed him control of this date. Because I don’t doubt that’s what this is—a date—and now I feel like I may have given the impression I’ll be easy.
Jesus, I’m overthinking.
He left around three and I wasn’t far behind him, running into town for a few groceries and to replenish my beer. The deck is done, all except the two shallow steps he said he’d come to finish his next day off. I’m not concerned about the missing steps—the deck isn’t that high and I can still pretty easily get on and off—but he insisted.
Returning home I started dinner prep, getting it to a point where I’d only need thirty minutes or so to put the food on the table. Then I went to change into something that would spell ‘date’ more appropriately than what I was wearing, but after ten minutes of tugging on the formfitting black pants and plucking at the scoop neck of the snug top, I was back in the jeans and man’s dress shirt I’d had on earlier. He can take me as I am or not at all.
This is not me, even Beau is getting restless with my fussing. It’s not like I’ve never been on a date. Some good, some less so, but other than perhaps a few that resulted in a quick physical release, nothing lasting had come out of them. The one thing all of them had in common was as soon as the guy discovered what I do for a living, the fun was over.
Maybe that’s why this time I’m feeling out of my depth; Jay already knows and still asked me out.
It’s a little after seven when Beau’s ears perk up and he lumbers to the door. I rush into the kitchen and set the oven to preheat and pull the marinated salmon from the fridge to get the chill off. Still, I startle at the firm knock. Pushing my glasses back up my nose, I run a nervous hand over my hair in futile hope of controlling the flyaways, before opening the door.
He’s tall, something I already knew but is brought home when I notice how close his head comes to the top of the doorway.
“Hey.” His voice is a little tentative, but deliciously rumbly.
“Hi,” I manage before stepping aside.
He comes through the door and shoves a small clay pot with paperwhites in my hands before he toes off his shoes.
“Where should I…” he asks, looking around for a place to put them.
“They’re fine where they are.”
He nods and bends down to the dog, who is already vying for his attention. That didn’t take long.
“Come in.”
I notice his eyes taking in the open space.
“Nice place. It smells great in here.”
I smile at him. “It’s only the marinade for the fish, it still has to go in the oven.”
“Looking forward to it.” His eyes are sincere and his expression serious when he turns to me. I lift the small pot of flowers before setting it on the kitchen island.
“These are pretty, but you didn’t have to bring me anything.”
“They reminded me of you,” he says, pulling out a stool and perching a hip on the seat.
“Oh?”
I look at the nondescript, almost rudimentary pot and basic flowers before turning my gaze on him. He looks put on the spot, the flush creeping up from his beard to his cheeks betraying his discomfort.
“They were sitting on a shelf between a rosebush and a dwarf azalea, yet stood out to me in their beautiful simplicity. Like you.”
Now it’s my turn to blush. Compliments are rare and this was a really good one, filling me with a pleasant glow. I smile at him.
“I like that.”
“Good.”
For a moment our eyes lock and that pleasant glow flares into an electric charge. I force myself to look away before I spontaneously combust.
“Beer?”
He clears his throat before responding, “Please.”
I hand him a beer from the fridge, pop one open for myself, and take a drink before turning my attention to the salmon.
“So, you were going to tell me about your family?” I ask, sliding the salmon in the oven.
It’s not until I drizzle some oil in the wok and light the gas underneath, he answers.
“My grandfather sat in the Senate for three terms, my father is a state representative, and my brother is a political analyst in the office of the mayor of Boston.”
My hands still and I swing around to face him.
“Wow.”
His smile is sardonic. “Yeah, wow.”
I feel the need to clarify. “I meant wow as in yikes.” The smile bleeds into his eyes. “I imagine your choice of career caused a bit of a stir.”