“It smells good.” I stopped beside her, looking into the large pot, a sauté pan according to her, with noodles, chicken, and white sauce mixed together.
“I’d hope so, I followed the recipe closely to make sure it came out perfect.”
I reached above her to grab a glass from the cupboard, my side brushing against her back, and felt her lean into me before realizing what she was doing. My lips twitched at her body’s reaction. It was an instinct I clung to, welcomed.
“Even if you didn’t follow it, it’d come out perfect. There’s nothing you do that is anything less.”
She froze, her hand white knuckling the wooden spoon that I wasn’t sure was mine or something she brought with her. “We both know that isn’t true.”
Instantly, my gaze snapped to her face which was keen on avoiding me. “Don’t fucking do that, Adele.”
She flinched.
“Don’t put yourself down.”
“Theo, I’m—”
“No.” My voice was hard, causing her lips to snap shut hearing my impatience. “I will not let you do that to yourself. You’ve come so far. Don’t go back now.”
I heard the soft, slow exhale she took and watched her body loosen from the tension building. “I’m not, Theo. Promise. But we can’t pretend that I didn’t have a…a moment when things weren’t good. Ripley told me I’m always going to have days where I have to fight a little harder and that it’s good I can acknowledge the moments when they arrive. And, if I’m being honest, I’m okay with admitting I’m not perfect. I tried too hard to be my whole life and that was what hurt me the most.”
This was the reason I admired her. Even though she was supposed to look up to people like me, older, wiser, with more life experience, it was me who looked up to this twenty-two-year-old. And I gave no fucks about it even at my forty years of age.
“You never cease to amaze me, you know that? It doesn’t matter what happens, your strength is blinding. I know people who have lost far less, been through things that don’t even compare, and have a bigger reaction to them. But not you. That’s inspiring.”
She stopped stirring again to turn and glance up at me, her eyes searching mine for a long moment like she was trying to find something. “That means a lot coming from you, but I’m not so sure I can accept the compliment. Especially because there are people who will always have it better than me and those who have it worse. I don’t like considering my circumstances to be a reason that puts me above or below others.”
Shaking my head, I turned to the faucet and filled the cup with water.
“What?” she doubted.
“Nothing, Della.”
Her palm brushed my arm, causing me to look over my shoulder at her curious gaze. “No, I want to know what you’re thinking.”
“I already said what I thought, you just emphasized it by saying what you did. You are, and always will be, beyond your years. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
My dick was willing to answer that when it strained against the denim it was trapped in. She didn’t grasp how sexy it was that she was strong and humble. “Because experience ages people, and normally not the good kind.”
Her frown was instant. “It isn’t like I had a bad life, Theo. You know that better than anybody. I just had moments that weren’t as stellar as others. And before you scold me for pointing that out, I’m just stating facts. Overall, I’ve lived a good life that I’m grateful for. Loss and all.”
I watched her for a moment, water forgotten in my hand, before smiling. “Like I said. Wise beyond your years.”
She just shrugged.
After food was plated sometime later, we sat down beside each other at the table. Even though I’d offered to eat in the living room and watch TV, something I knew she did more times than not at her place, she insisted she wanted a normal dinner because she only ate on the couch at home because she had nobody else to talk to.
There were more times than I liked to admit where my mind wandered to her when I was alone. Not in a sexual way, usually, but more with concern. I knew she lived alone and didn’t have people over often. Not even Pretty Boy. She spent a lot of time in her spare room turned studio, painting and getting lost in whatever project she had going. But there were days when I couldn’t help but wonder if she ever felt lonely, isolated, like she didn’t have a choice but to accept dinners in front of the television, probably watching some historical documentary or food competition, or if she hardly thought of it at all.
“Theo?” Snapping out of the thought, I realized I was staring at my plate in silence. “Does it not taste good? I could make you something else if you—”
“It’s fine.” To prove it, I dipped my fork into the pasta and wound it around the silver prongs before taking a hearty bite. She watched me like she was waiting for me to spit it out. Once I swallowed, I said, “I mean it, Della. It’s great.”
“You were staring at it like you found a hair or something.”
Chuckling, I looked at the full head of hair that she’d let loose as soon as she walked into the house. I preferred it down. It made me think of all the times she’d ask me or her father to brush it out for her because her arms were too short to detangle it after baths. The one summer Elizabeth had convinced her to get it cut so she’d be cooler, she ended up sobbing while clinging to my legs, and not even my promise that she looked cute, which she had, could calm her down.
It’d been in a few fantasies I tried keeping locked up as well, where a fistful was wound around my hand as I pulled her head back and kissed the fuck out of her while I thrusted inside her pussy. I didn’t allow myself to think about that often though.
“Lost in thought,” was the only information I offered her.
Her bottom lip stuck out, making me smirk, but I hid it by eating more so she couldn’t think I was lying.
“I’ve gotten better,” she admitted, picking at her own food. Her garlic bread was almost half eaten, though the small portion on her plate was barely touched. I’d wanted to tell her to eat, to put more on the plate, but I held myself back because it wouldn’t have done any good. At least she was eating something. “So, stop looking at my food like you’re going to lecture me.”
“I wasn’t,” I assured half-heartedly.
“Mmhmm.”
I grinned. “I was just thinking about how well your cooking skills have gotten.”
“I’d hope so,” she mused, twirling her fork around some pasta before stabbing a piece of chicken with it. “I’ve come a long way over the years considering my only other options were finding new Pop-Tarts and Healthy Choice meals to try.”
She had people to cook for her, but she never used them. When her mother was alive, she’d cook all the time for the family, but then she became busy with the charities she helped with and the events she’d gone to constantly with Anthony. They did everything for their family, for Adele, but their daughter was on her own more than I liked. It was why I’d stepped in so much, brought Della with me various places, that way she wasn’t always alone with the hired help.