Her heart fluttered like a schoolgirl’s. She’d never had a man cook for her before. All her dates consisted of formal dinners or the occasional movie, and rarely led back to cocktails at home. She’d never craved that type of intimacy before—happy with the crumbs of romance and the occasional making-out session. He was beginning to stir up all sorts of longings in the short time he’d been here. If he wanted to take her to bed tonight, would she let him?
The thoughts whirled in her head as she packed up her laptop, grabbed her glass, and headed into the kitchen. “All set,” she said lightly, sliding onto one of the cushioned chairs. “Can I help? It smells amazing.”
His smile was warm and gave her all the tingles. Had she really called him robot man? She’d been so wrong. “No, it’s under control. Will be ready in a few minutes. Did you get all your work done?”
She propped up her elbows on the counter. “Yes. Taylor and Bella have other events booked, so it’s just me and Gabe handling this wedding. Besides a large wedding party, demanding MOB, and anal groom, I need to make sure nothing gets overlooked.”
He stirred the asparagus, which looked nice and crisp, just the way she liked it. “MOB is Mother of the Bride, right? Do you use acronyms for all your clients?”
“Pretty much. It’s our shorthand for all those long titles,” she said as he refilled her wineglass. “MOBs can be a nightmare, even more so than the bride. For instance, this one undercut the bride’s choices on everything, and made her doubt her instincts. As the planner, it’s my job to protect the bride and encourage her to keep her vision alive while dealing with stubborn relatives who believe they can do it better.”
“And the anal groom?”
She took a sip. “The groom insists his dog be the ring bearer.”
His lip quirked. She had the urge to run her fingers over his mouth to see if his lips were as soft as she remembered. “Doesn’t sound too weird. Plenty of people have their dogs involved in weddings.”
“Yes, but the ceremony isn’t outside or at the beach. It’s in a church where we needed to get special permission to bring the dog in. I’ve also heard the dog misbehaves, which makes this a challenge. Of course, I’ll try to gauge how bad it will be at the rehearsal dinner. The groom promised to practice with Gus so he’s not nervous.”
“Gus, huh?”
“Yep. Plus, the groom demanded a gluten- and nut-free cake.”
“Well, people have allergies.”
She sighed. “But no one he knows at the wedding has any allergies. He just wants to be prepared. He also insisted no roses be used anywhere in the ceremony or reception because it’s bad luck. I guess his ex-wife used roses everywhere, and he believes it’d be a curse to his new marriage.”
Carter lifted a brow. “I think anal is the wrong word.”
“Eccentric?”
“Crazy.”
She laughed. “Well, at least I’ll have Gabe with me. I forgot to ask you about the tuxedo appointment. Did it go well?”
Something danced in his eyes, but he turned quickly so she couldn’t study him further. “Yep. Found a good tux.”
“And Gabe? Did you both get along?”
“Better than I imagined.”
She sighed with relief. “I’m so glad. Gabe is simply amazing. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
He turned and pinned her with his gaze. Heat flared between them. “He said the same thing about you.” She sensed more to the story, but he smiled and said nothing more.
“Oh, I forgot to show you the favors we settled on. Want to see?” she asked.
“Absolutely.”
She shot him a suspicious look. “You’re not going to suggest an alternative and then challenge me to another bet, are you?”
He held his hands up. “Promise. No judgment or helpful comments.”
She muttered an assent and grabbed the wrapped item from her bag. Carefully removing the fabric from the plastic-wrap protector, she withdrew the tea towel.
Carter frowned. “A shirt?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course not. Unfold it.”
He smoothed out the fabric and stared at it. Avery hoped he saw what she did. The tea towel was silver gray, soft to the touch, and had an Elizabeth Barrett Browning quote embroidered in calligraphy:
I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.
Underneath were Ally’s and Jason’s names with the wedding date.
He stared at it for a while.
“You don’t like it?” She tried not to show disappointment. “Before you begin going off in a new direction, your sister approved them, and they’re already paid for. Nonrefundable.”
He looked up and smiled. “It’s beautiful.”
Relief cut through her. “Thank God. Ally really wanted to use the quote on something that wouldn’t be thrown away, and everyone loves a tea towel. I had no idea your parents were such romantics,” she teased. “Did they both love poetry? I never asked Ally about the true meaning behind the poem.”
His jaw tightened. “My parents were like lovesick schoolkids. Crazy about each other. They’d met in college in an English class, so their love for words bonded them. Dad would read poetry to her late at night. That was Mom’s favorite quote. When Dad got in trouble, he’d find ways to use it as a reminder that he loved her.”
The thought of such devotion shook her to the core. “You were lucky to have them,” she said quietly, sensing his tension. “They showed you and Ally what’s possible.”
He turned, jerking the pan from the stove and turning off the heat. His shoulders tensed into a straight line. “I learned many things from my parents’ relationship,” he said with a touch of bitterness. “But I’m glad the quote makes Ally happy. She should have something to remember them by during the wedding.”
She frowned, feeling as if she’d stepped over a personal boundary he let no one cross. Was it the pain of losing them that caused the edge in his voice? Or something she didn’t know? Something deeper?
When he faced her again, the smile was back, and his face had softened. “Dinner’s ready.”
She helped him serve, and they began to eat. She practically moaned with pleasure at each perfect bite. The roasted chicken was tender and juicy. The asparagus, slightly burned and garlicky. The baked potato was filled with butter and chives, with firm skin and a soft center. He’d even made dinner rolls with shiny, buttery tops that leaked steam when broken open.
“This is amazing,” she finally managed to say between bites. “You’re not a cook. You’re a chef.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
She laughed and watched him share his food with Lucy with a separate fork. Her little face tipped up, big brown eyes filled with pleading he seemed unable to resist. She ate like an aristocrat, sliding the food carefully from the fork and chewing slowly, sighing in happiness and waiting for the next morsel. “You spoil her.”
“I pamper her,” he corrected. He turned and tilted his head, studying Avery’s face with his searing gaze. “I enjoy pampering my women.”