Problem solved.
He’d do everything in his power to make that happen.
Except that shaky house of cards depended on an awful lot of ifs.
…
At eight thirty that night, Cinnamon Toast Crunch was calling Tessa’s name. Bone-deep tiredness made her want to grab a bowl of her favorite comfort food, then crash for the night. She walked in the back door to find Leo in the kitchen, steam rising from a big pot and bright-colored vegetables scattered about the counter. “Hey,” she managed, stifling a yawn. Good thing she was too exhausted to worry about any Leo-initiated tingles hitting her tonight.
“Hard day?” he asked as he quickly and expertly chopped an onion. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
Wait. He was cooking dinner for her? Waiting to eat with her? How…unexpected.
“Long day,” she said. “But all good. By the way, my mom couldn’t stop singing your praises all afternoon.”
“She was pretty thrilled that Jack and I got those doors out of the storage room.”
“And then you spent another half hour cleaning and sweeping. She’s your fan for life.”
“I’m glad to hear she’s not holding the feud against me. That means our plan is making a difference.” He looked up and grinned, which sent a wave of tingles instantly spreading all through her. And the dreaded flush rushing furiously into her cheeks. Ugh.
There was an unidentifiable vegetable that looked like an onion, only more oblong, sitting on a cutting board. Surrounded by garlic and baby lettuce and oranges, a partially-grated hunk of parmesan and…a bottle of vodka.
Hmmm. “Trying a new recipe?” she asked.
“Nope. Making a tried-and-true one.” He stopped chopping and stood up, which brought them face to face in the tiny kitchen as Tessa herself reached up to the cupboard. Tessa looked up—way up—into his eyes, which held a tinge of amusement. Over his gray T-shirt he wore an apron that said MR. GOOD LOOKIN’ IS COOKIN’. There was nothing but a box of cereal between them.
He plucked it quietly out of her hands. They both stood there in the middle of the aisle, staring at each other, his mouth slowly quirking upward, while Tessa’s heart began to beat steadily in her ears. “You have time for a quick shower,” he finally said, gently turning her around. “Dinner is going to be so much better than a bowl of Cheerios.”
“Cinnamon Toast Crunch,” she called over her shoulder.
“That, too.”
There was no time to think, because he didn’t take no for an answer, physically steering her out of the tiny space. “Ten minutes. And don’t be late. I hate it when my food gets cold.”
It’s only dinner, Tessa reminded herself. Like roommates. Still, the smell of the onions and garlic, the shock of the surprise invite, and the hard muscles of Mr. Good Lookin’ somehow gave her a second wind.
She walked into the kitchen ten minutes later with her hair wet, wearing shorts and a black T-shirt that said Everything Sounds Better in French.
Leo was tossing delicious-smelling cheesy pasta in the most enormous aluminum cooking bowl she’d ever seen. He gestured for her to pick up the bottle of red wine and two glasses that were sitting on the counter, while he grabbed the bowl and headed out the sliding door to the tiny brick patio.
There were salad plates on the table holding fancy greens and oranges and pistachios. A couple of roses from their elderly next-door neighbor Mrs. Bender’s everblooming rose bushes were stuck in a bell jar in the center.
Wait. Mr. Unromantic had cut roses for the table?
Apparently, he’d also strung a solitary string of lights across the patio and looped them around the trunk of a big oak tree, making the tiny backyard look like a romantic fairyland.
Leo held out a chair for her. Their outdoor dining set was cobbled together from both of them—an old yellow chair from her, a blue one from him. Different colors and not matching, yet somehow together, they did. Their only other piece of furniture was an old glider, painted a bright aqua blue, a gift from Tessa’s mom, who was happy to get it out of her garage.
Tessa sat down. A warm breeze blew in from the hills, and in the distance, little downtown lights were twinkling. A perfect late spring evening. “Sit. Rest. Eat,” he said.
She couldn’t help smiling as he held out her chair for her. “You know you just proved that you’re the perfect maître d’.”
“Owner,” he corrected. “The boss.” He seemed to consider that. “I believe that dinner is—should be—an experience. One to be savored and enjoyed.”
Just then Cosette appeared from her travels around the garden with something in her mouth. Which she gingerly placed at Tessa’s feet.
Leo startled and stepped back. “Is that a…dead…”
She bent over to examine it. “I can confirm that it is, indeed, a deceased chipmunk.” Looking up, she found Leo watching reluctantly. “Didn’t you ever have a cat?”
He raised a hand. “Dog person here. But even that’s a commitment.”
She chuckled at his obvious discomfort, so unlike the rest of his easygoing nature. “It’s an offering of love and affection, so if it offends you, don’t look.” She reached down, lifted up the cat, and kissed her head. “You are a brilliant mouser, and Mommy is so proud.” As she lowered her back down, Cosette purred, rubbed against her leg, then disappeared into the garden.
“Don’t tell her that wasn’t a mouse,” Leo said in a low whisper, quickly whisking the “offering” into the garden with a broom.
“Hey, I may be Type A, but I don’t expect perfection from my children.”
“You probably want a bunch of those.”
“Kids? It’s probably the reason I stayed with Sam so long. Don’t you…want kids?”
He looked a little uncomfortable. “I guess I always thought of that as being down the line. Like, way down the line.”
“Why is that?”
He was silent for a while, taking his time opening the wine. “My mom got sick when I was ten. The whole cancer experience sort of cut my childhood short.” He paused, as if he were deciding whether to continue. “I guess I have a hard time even thinking about what it would be like to have kids myself.”
She didn’t quite understand it, but she saw that the sorrow of his mom’s death had impacted him greatly and still did.
In a flash, he was back to being charming Leo. “My dad told me to try this tonight.” He prepared to pour the wine. “His supplier said it was aged in oak barrels. Did you know you can only get two barrels from an eighty-year-old oak tree?”