“It’s fine.” Rosie nodded briskly and took off her apron, leaving it on the marble island top. “There are a fresh batch of spicy pork empanadas here, if everyone wants to dig in.” With a reassuring smile in the direction of the living room, she breezed past Dominic and out the door.
He raised an eyebrow at the sea of disapproving faces and followed her out the door, closing it behind them. The first thing he noticed was her lack of coat. It was right inside, hanging on a hook, but he couldn’t tell her that. She’d know he’d brought it.
When she rubbed her hands together to ward off the brisk air, Dominic ground his back teeth together and started to shoulder off his leather bomber. “Put this on.”
His wife shook her head. “Why did you come here?”
Dominic frowned at the goose bumps on her arms. “A bunch of strangers aren’t going to stand between me and my wife.”
She laughed. “Oh, I get it. You purposely showed up during the meeting to make a statement.”
Until she said it out loud, Dominic hadn’t even been aware of his own intentions. He couldn’t deny it, could he? He’d wanted to make it known what was written in stone, as far as he was concerned: a marriage was forever and there was nothing more important than their commitment. “You were making empanadas.”
Rosie opened her mouth and closed it before saying, “Yes.”
He slid both hands into his pockets. “You haven’t done that in a while.”
“Actually, I have,” she said, tilting her head. “I’ve been making them for months at these meetings. A few people are even asking about me catering birthday parties.” She licked her lips, her gaze cutting sideways. “Maybe I’ll say yes eventually.”
It wasn’t lost on Dominic that they hadn’t spoken like this in far too long. His wife had been asked to cater birthday parties? Had he really known none of this? A montage of their silent evenings spent in separate parts of the house ran through his head and panic snuck in beneath his skin. Jesus, he didn’t know what was happening in Rosie’s life. At all. “Why haven’t you said yes?”
“I don’t . . .” She gave a jerky shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.”
“Seriously, Dominic?” Eyes squeezed shut, she shook her head. “You don’t get to come here and act like you suddenly care.”
Frustration welled up inside him, biting the heels of his already-frayed nerves. “You don’t think your husband cares more than these women? You’ve only been hanging out with most of them for a matter of weeks.”
“I don’t know.” She lifted her hands and let them drop. “I do know the club members like my cooking so much, they’ve . . . they . . .”
“What?”
A few beats of silence passed while she scrutinized him. “They’ve donated money on this online crowdsourcing site. To help me open the restaurant,” she said quietly. “The GoFundMe was Georgie’s idea and it . . . well, it’s been pretty amazing. The response.”
That knowledge made Dominic’s esophagus burn. He was supposed to provide for his wife. That’s what he’d been doing since the day they married, and he’d been attempting to go beyond the basics by setting aside a portion of his salary for the last five years. Would telling her about it now make any difference? “You’re opening the restaurant with other people’s money?”
“I haven’t decided, actually. I might. If I don’t, I’m going to give the money back, obviously,” she said. “It’s not the full amount I would need to buy the building I like outright, but maybe there’s a chance the owner will let me make payments. It’s worth finding out.”
“Come home,” Dominic pushed through his teeth. “You don’t need to take donations. We’ll find the money to open your place on our own.”
“We’ve had years to try and find it. We didn’t.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “Now I’m going to do it the way I choose, Dominic. I’m sorry if you don’t like it.”
He paced away from her on the porch and came back. What the hell was he supposed to say? She was . . . right. They’d stopped talking about the possibility of her restaurant years ago. He’d almost started thinking she didn’t want to try anymore, so he’d set out to give her another dream. One they’d spoken about hundreds of times. By the time he’d found her classified ads for commercial space under the mattress, the money he could have given her to open the doors . . . it had been spent.
Christ, he was failing here. His wife was gone and she already had plans to pursue the future alone. He’d lost his chance to help. “Come back to me.” Dominic took several steps in her direction, gratified when that familiar awareness smoked in her eyes. “Things haven’t been great for you at home. I get that, all right?”
Bewilderment transformed her features. “Have they honestly been great for you?”
Dominic was too embarrassed to say yes. The privilege of caring for this woman was his reason for getting out of bed in the morning. If he’d sensed occasionally that she wanted more, he’d worked harder. Looked for other things that were making her unhappy and fixed them, because it was his job. The alternative was to acknowledge her unhappiness and his own shortcomings as a husband. That he was human. Inadequate. To admit he wasn’t doing enough—that maybe someone else could have done better by Rosie. He didn’t want to know if their marriage was leaving her unsatisfied; he just wanted to throw another dart and pray like hell it hit the target. “What do I have to do?”
She started at the vehemence in his voice. “I don’t know if there’s anything. Not now.”
The hollow husk of his stomach filled with acid. “Think about it,” he said firmly, stepping close enough that Rosie was forced to tip her head back. Fuck, he would have killed to kiss her in that moment, with the sun setting on the golden highlights in her eyes, her lips parted and plump from having him close. “While you’re figuring out whether to give me a second chance, Rosie, I need to know you’re not enjoying the interest of other men.” He wet his upper lip and watched her eyelids flutter. “It won’t be long before this whole damn town knows you’re not sleeping in my bed, and trust me, a lot of men would like to take my place.”
“Fine,” she whispered, her attention flicking to his mouth. “Same goes for you. Until we figure out if this marriage is really—”
“Don’t say it. Don’t say ‘over,’” he growled, lifting a hand to cup her face. When she flinched, he curled the fingers into his palm and let the hand drop away. “I’ve never had another woman and I’ll never want another woman. Bet the fucking bank on it.”
Her chest shuddered up and down. “You should go.”
“Why, honey?” Ever so slowly, he allowed his fingertips to brush the curve of Rosie’s hip and his cock reacted to the shape, the feel of her. “You starting to wish we’d gotten in one more Tuesday night?”
“No,” she breathed, swaying a little on her feet.
Dominic hummed deep in his throat, pretty sure they had an audience watching from the front window, and not caring. “You have a good hard think about letting me try this again. Us again. In the meantime, if you come knocking in the middle of the night—any night—I’ll scratch that itch, Rosie. It can be our little secret.”