Christine stares at me for a few moments without saying anything while she finishes her drink.
Not wanting to get into an argument with my friend and now sister-in-law, I decide to change the subject. We spend the next little while making plans to go to the farmers’ market next weekend, and chat about a new chick flick we’d both like to go see.
After I finish my drink, I head home. I wait until after I leave Christine to accept Nic’s invite. The truth is I’m more excited about this dinner date than I’ve been about anything in a long time.
I’d love to. Just tell me when and where.
As I wait for his response, I decide not to mention Nic to Christine anymore. She clearly has some hang-ups about him, and until things get serious between him and me, there’s no reason to argue about it. The last thing I need is her bad attitude clouding my time with Nic.
She’s only a couple of years older than me, but she’s acting like I’m her daughter. I’m perfectly capable of deciding who’s a good person and who isn’t all on my own, and I don’t need her lecturing me.
Nic responds as I pull into my driveway, and my heart leaps again.
Saturday night, my place. I’ll cook for you.
I smile to myself as I step inside my apartment and start making my dinner. So I’ll finally get to see where Nic lives, and if things go the way I hope they will, the night will be ending with more than just dessert.
Chapter Twelve
Nic
Tomatoes, onions, red wine, bay leaves . . . what the hell am I forgetting?
I’ve scanned my pantry twenty times now, racking my brain to make sure I’m not missing any ingredients for my date with Elle tonight. Not that that’s really possible. I’ve already made three separate grocery runs, just to be safe.
I don’t normally cook for other people. Not ever, really. I cook for myself all the time, but it’s never been a skill I’ve wanted to use to woo a woman. Hell, I don’t woo women at all . . . at least, not in my personal life.
But from the moment I decided to take Elle on a proper date, I knew it had to be special. And cooking for someone—in my own home, no less—is definitely not something I’ve ever done for a woman before. But when the idea popped into my head, I knew it was perfect.
My place looks better now than it has for months, that’s for sure. I’m no slob, but when no one is around to see it, I don’t stay quite as on top of my scrubbing and dusting as I should. Until today, that is. I spent at least four hours deep cleaning every inch of my apartment. And I have to admit, it cleans up pretty damn good.
I lift the lid slightly on the large pot simmering on the stove. My mouth waters at the aroma, and I can’t help but smile at the thought of Elle walking through my door and doing the same. Half the reason I decided to cook for her was to impress her with my domestic charm. But the other half of the reason? No part of me wants to take Elle in public and share her with other people. All I want is to have her here in my space, just the two of us.
Pecorino. That’s what I’m forgetting. I quickly open my fridge and find a small wedge of the hard, pale cheese sitting in a drawer. Thank God I stay so true to my Italian roots.
A knock on the door makes my stomach drop. She’s here.
I can’t tell if I’m excited or nervous. But my heart is hammering away, and my insides feel like someone twisted them with a fork.
Her effect on me is totally out of the ordinary—yet so damn invigorating at the same time. It’s been a long-ass time since I’ve felt anything other than a professional duty to a woman, and I realize I’ve missed that feeling more than I care to admit.
Before opening the door, I check my reflection in the hallway mirror, pushing a few stray hairs back into place. It’s go time.
When I open the door, my heart skips a beat. Elle’s gorgeous. Somehow even more gorgeous than the last time I saw her.
She smiles and self-consciously tucks her hair behind her ear. “I’m so glad this is you. I was worried I’d be banging on the wrong door.” She chuckles, a slight blush creeping over her chest.
I drink in the sight of her, my mouth twitching with a smile. She’s beautiful. Real. Adorable as fuck.
“Well, I’m glad you found me,” I say, leaning in and placing a kiss on her cheek. I usher her inside, guiding her to the kitchen with my hand resting against the small of her back.
Elle’s blue eyes widen as she takes in the cityscape view from the back wall of windows. “This place is amazing. Your line of work must pay really well, doesn’t it? Maybe I need to rethink my law aspirations and go into finance,” she says, and a small chuckle escapes those gorgeous lips.
My own smile falters for a second. My “finance” job isn’t exactly the reminder I need at this moment.
“Here, let me take your purse.”
For a second, I consider putting it in my bedroom like I would at a party. But ending the night by retrieving her purse from my bed would only lead to one thing. I don’t want her to feel pressured to do anything she’s not ready for, and I don’t want to tempt myself even further. So I place her purse on the couch and return to the kitchen to check on the sauce.
I find Elle leaning against my granite countertop and admiring the view, her position showing off her supple curves. My pulse is racing, and I’m suddenly aware of how nervous I am in her presence.
I haven’t gotten this worked up over a woman in years. What the fuck is going on with me? This date was supposed to help quell these feelings, not make them worse.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
Her gaze travels to me, the corner of her mouth lifting into a half smile. How does her every move manage to be sexy?
“That would be lovely.”
I pull a couple of glasses down from the shelf and pour us each a sparkling water with a slice of lemon. Elle laughs, covering her face with her hands and shaking her head.
“I’m never going to live that night down, am I?”
I hand her a glass, and we clink glasses before taking a sip.
“That night was my fault. And I’m not making the mistake of overserving you again. Seeing you in so much discomfort and knowing I could have stopped it from happening . . . not my proudest moment.”
“Are you kidding? I’m the lightweight who should have known better than to keep downing glass after glass of champagne.”
“We’ll call it a tie, then,” I say, making my way around the island to stand next to her, our arms lightly brushing.
Elle turns to me and raises her glass for a toast, and I raise mine to join her.
“Cheers. To getting to know each other better,” she says, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight.
“And to new beginnings,” I add.
Our eyes lock as our glasses clink, and we each take a sip. Elle smiles at my addition, but the words feel more serious to me. I know she doesn’t understand their weight for me, but I mean them. Something about this woman makes me want to turn over a new leaf. Even if that means taking a massive pay cut for a few months while I find a different line of work.
“So, the sauce needs to simmer for another twenty minutes or so. Why don’t you take a seat by the windows, and I’ll grab us some bread with olive oil?”