“Should I get my apron?” he asked when Kayana removed a chef’s tunic from the tote.
“I’d advise you to, or you may end up with tomato sauce on your white clothes.”
Graeme had paired a white, short-sleeved golf shirt with matching walking shorts. He opened a drawer under the countertop and took out the apron Kayana had given him before his first cooking lesson. He had remembered everything she’d taught him, and if called upon, he was certain he would be able to duplicate the dishes.
He watched as Kayana removed large cans of crushed tomatoes, plastic bags of fresh herbs, breadcrumbs, grated cheese, a plastic container of ground beef, and a bulb of garlic. “That tote is like Santa’s magic bag that keeps on giving,” Graeme teased. She added a loaf of ciabatta bread, another container of fresh spaghetti, a large bottle of extra-virgin olive oil, and a box of disposable gloves to the other items.
Kayana gave him bright smile. “I think that’s it.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “That’s a lot for spaghetti and meatballs.”
“You could’ve gone to the supermarket to buy a package of prepared meatballs and a box of spaghetti.”
Graeme crossed his arms over his chest. “But it wouldn’t taste the same as yours.”
“Not mine, Graeme, but yours. I’m going to sit and watch you make the entire meal.”
He went still. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Very sure, my love. You’re a very bright man and an excellent student. And if I have to get up early to go to work, and then come home exhausted after standing on my feet for hours, I would really appreciate it if my boyfriend would occasionally fix dinner for us.”
“So I’m your boyfriend and your love?”
Kayana winked at him. “You could be, but you’re going have to work at it.”
Graeme wanted to take Kayana in his arms and kiss her until he was forced to stop and catch his breath.
So many things in his life had changed in a year: He’d purchased a vacation home, retired from teaching, had finally met and interacted with Kayana Johnson. What he hadn’t predicted was falling in love with her.
Graeme was more than aware that he’d come on strong when he’d asked Kayana to live with him, yet at fifty-two, he wasn’t willing to become reticent when it came to his feelings about a woman. He knew he’d shocked Kayana when he’d asked her to live with him and had figuratively held his breath because he’d believed she was going to reject him outright. But she hadn’t, and that permitted him to relax and to allow things to unfold naturally.
He washed his hands in one of the twin sinks, dried them on a paper towel, and slipped on a pair of disposable gloves. He’d learned early on that Kayana never handled food with her bare hands—meat, in particular, because she claimed it skeeved her out.
“I’m ready, Miss Johnson.”
Graeme carefully followed Kayana’s directions as she told him, step-by-step, what to put into the lean ground beef before forming it into balls and placing them on a baking sheet in a preheated oven. Even before he began cooking the meatballs, the scent of flavored breadcrumbs, grated cheese, garlic powder, and finely minced fresh oregano wafted to his nostrils. Twenty minutes later, the kitchen was filled with the mouth-watering aroma of the garlic-infused tomato sauce simmering in a large pot. He stirred the sauce with a wooden spoon before covering the pot with a lid.
“You can take the meatballs out of the oven now and, using a slotted spoon, put them into the sauce.”
His head popped up when he looked directly at Kayana. “Don’t you want to serve the meatballs on top of the spaghetti, and then cover them with sauce?”
She smiled. “No. Putting the meat in the sauce will enhance its flavor. Many Italians will make the sauce, which they refer to as gravy, with fresh San Marzano tomatoes and simmer them for hours with uncooked meatballs, sausage, and small pieces of spareribs. And the result is an incredible sauce that becomes even better days later.”
“Why didn’t we do that?”
“Do you want to eat tonight or tomorrow morning?” she asked him.
“Tonight, of course.” He removed the meatballs from the oven and gently lifted them with a slotted spoon to drain off the excess grease and put them in the pot of sauce.
“That’s why I had you use crushed canned tomatoes—to speed up the process.”
Graeme, resting his elbows on the countertop, leaned closer to Kayana, who was sitting opposite him. “What other cooking shortcuts are you going to teach me?”
She smiled. “Everything but our secret family recipes.”
“What would I have to do to get the secret recipe for your honeyed fried chicken and mac and cheese?”
Kayana scrunched up her nose. “You’d have to become family, and that’s not happening.”
“Why? Because you won’t marry me.”
Kayana stared at Graeme as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “That fever must have affected your brain, because how could you go from asking me to move in with you to now talking about me marrying you. I told you before I have no intention of ever marrying again. Not you or any man.”
He recoiled as if she’d struck him across the face. “Do you find me that repulsive?”
She wanted to ask Graeme if he’d really taken a good look at himself. He wasn’t what she would consider handsome in the traditional sense, but he was quite attractive. Tall and slender, he wore his clothes well. His features were unremarkable except for a pair of large, light gray eyes framed by long dark lashes and what she’d now come to think of as a sensual mouth.
Slipping off the stool, Kayana came around the cooking island, went on tiptoe, and brushed her mouth over Graeme’s. She knew she’d shocked him when she heard his intake of breath before his arms circled her waist and pulled her closer until her breasts flattened against his chest. She felt the heat from his body and the strong, steady beating of his heart, and drank in the sweetness of his kiss, all which reminded her of what she’d missed since her divorce.
Kayana ended the kiss and bit her lip before she begged Graeme to take her upstairs and make love to her. Easing back, she smiled up at him. “No, Graeme. You are definitely not repulsive.”
He inhaled a breath. “That’s comforting to know.”
A slight frown appeared between her eyes. “Now, where’s the overly confident man who asked a woman whom he’d taken out once, and barely kissed, to cohabitate with him?”
Graeme smiled, exhibiting straight, white teeth. “He sometimes has to put a damper on his confidence with a woman who doesn’t need to be taken care of and is emphatic about not remarrying.”
“Is that what you want, Graeme? You want to get married again? So you can see if you can get it right the next time?”
His smile vanished, replaced by an expression of stone. “Is that what you believe? That I’m using you like a subject in an experiment? You talk about trust; well, I want you to trust me not to do to you what your ex did. Jillian denied me her body for weeks at a time, and not once did I ever consider cheating on her. I knew there was something special about you the first time I walked into the Seaside Café last summer and overheard you talking to the busboy, who was practically in tears. It was apparent he’d done something wrong, but it was the way you reassured him he still had his job that stayed with me. I finally figured it out when you took the time to come over and check on me when I was hardly able to get out of bed.”
“What’s that?”
“You are not only kind, but you are selfless. You could’ve stayed in Atlanta after your divorce, but you came back here to help your brother run the family business after your mother went to Florida to be with your sister and her children.”
With wide eyes, Kayana asked, “How do you know all of this?”
“Miss Donaldson is quite the town crier. She told me that you were once married to a trauma surgeon, your brother had lost his wife, and that your younger sister teaches school in Florida.”
Kaya
na knew the woman was an incurable gossip, but she didn’t think she would go into detail about her family’s personal life. “Well, damn! What hasn’t she told you?”
“I stopped her before she could tell me anything more or ask me my business.”
“I’m glad you did, because there’s an expression that a dog that takes a bone will carry a bone.” Kayana paused. “But I do know your business.”
“That’s because I wanted you to know something about me if I hoped to continue to see you.”
She pantomimed zipping her lips. “And it’s safe with me, Graeme. Think of it as client-therapist confidentiality.”
Graeme gave her a long, penetrating stare. “No, Kayana. I don’t want or need any more therapy to figure out who I am and what I want for myself. I’ve lost count of the number of hours I spent in therapy trying to understand why my birth mother decided to give me up, and who was the married man she’d slept with and who got her pregnant. I was angry with my parents for telling me that I was adopted until I realized how much I loved them and they loved me. Then I went into therapy again because of the guilt I’d felt following Jillian’s death. I’d looked forward to coming back here this summer because last year was the first time I was able to rid my mind of all the negativity that had prevented me from moving forward.”
Kayana patted his chest. “Other than my mother relocating to Florida, it was the reason I decided to come back instead of staying in Atlanta. I had the time of my life growing up here, and unlike some kids who can’t wait to move on from where they grew up, I didn’t want to leave. But there was another world outside of Coates Island, and once I moved to Georgia to attend college, I knew that my vision of what I wanted to do couldn’t be achieved here.”
“But you returned here because this place is therapeutic. Waking up every morning to the sight of sun, sand, and ocean is restorative to anyone looking for healing.”
“I never thought of the island like that.”
Graeme winked at her. “That’s because you took it for granted. Although I’ve always lived near the water, there’s something special about living on a small island.”
“Now you sound like Derrick. He claims he wasted too many years hustling in New York.”
“I like your brother. He’s even more of a sports fanatic than I am. When he found out I’d grown up in Boston, he asked if I was a Red Sox fan, and of course I said yes. And when he admitted that he rooted for the Mets and not the Yankees, I knew we would be able to have an intelligent conversation about baseball without going for each other’s throats.”
Kayana rolled her eyes upward. “Why do men get rabid when it comes to their teams?”
“Should I assume you’re not into sports?” Graeme questioned.
“You assume right. I think it’s unconscionable that athletes are paid obscene salaries, while teachers, folks in law enforcement, and first responders are forced to work overtime or take part-time jobs to make ends meet. And please don’t get me started preaching about single mothers and poor families struggling to pay rent or a mortgage and buy food and clothes for their kids.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Kay.” Graeme didn’t tell Kayana that for the past three years he’d donated half his teacher’s salary to his favorite charities: St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, World Vision, and the Boys & Girls Clubs of America. He’d inherited a lot of money from his parents, and his current lifestyle did not involve reckless spending. The money from his book advances and royalties were deposited into a designated account from which he paid taxes, and he had invested in a startup that had realized a modest profit last year after he’d convinced the partners to reduce their overhead by not renewing their lease in a luxury glass-and-steel, high-rise office building; they had purchased an abandoned firehouse and then applied for a business loan for the renovations.
What he couldn’t tell Kayana was that whenever he said something she misunderstood or disagreed with, he was forced to take a deep breath and think about what he was going to say because he didn’t want a repeat of what he’d had with Jillian.
Kayana was strong and independent, which was compatible with his own personality, and although he’d found himself falling in love with her, he could as easily walk away and not look back before losing his temper and saying something he would come to regret.
He dropped his arms. “Are we going to have wine with dinner?” He’d stored bottles of wine on a shelf in the pantry.
“But of course,” Kayana said, grinning. “An Italian meal would not be complete without wine.”
“I still have to cook the spaghetti and warm up the bread.”
Kayana took a backward step. “I’ll help you cook the spaghetti. Because it’s made fresh, you have to be careful not to overcook it.
Graeme felt as if he’d scaled a mountain and reached the summit when he sat down across the table from Kayana. The spaghetti was cooked al dente, the meatballs were flavorful, and a light coating of sauce on the freshly made pasta, the warmed garlic bread, and a bold dry merlot made him feel as if he was back in Rome dining alfresco under the stars.
“I know you work seven days a week during the summer, but do you ever go on vacation during the off-season?”
She peered at him over the rim of her wineglass. “Why?”
“I thought if you have some time, then whenever I’m off we can go somewhere and take in the sights.”
“What sights are you considering?”
He lifted his shoulders. “Rome, Dubai, Paris. You pick the place, and I’ll make it happen.”
Kayana set down her glass. “You’d take me to Dubai?”
Graeme smiled. “Yes. In fact, it’s on my bucket list.”
“Do you have any other places on your bucket list?”
“Monaco and Tokyo.”
Propping her elbow on the table, Kayana cupped her chin in the heel of her hand. “Those aren’t weekend jaunts, Graeme.”
“I know. That’s why I asked if you get time off.”
“Beginning in October, Derrick and I are two weeks on, two weeks off. How’s that going to work for you with your teaching schedule?”
“I get a recess in December, February, and April.” Graeme still wasn’t ready to tell Kayana that he no longer had to prepare lesson plans, grade papers and exams, or punch a time clock.
“That’s too far off for me to confirm anything. Once Derrick and I figure out our work schedules, I’ll text you.”
“Does this mean we’re on for Dubai?”
“It means I’ll let you know, Graeme.”
There was a thread of hardness in Kayana’s voice that told him to fall back and not attempt to put any pressure on her. Either she would accompany him or not, and he realized Kayana was right about them not having spent enough time together to get to know each other. And he also had to remind himself that she was nothing like any other woman he’d known. She was the personification of confidence; the only person he knew to match her confidence was his mother.
Born into wealth as an only child, Lauren had grown up pampered. But she was also generous to a fault. She was always cognizant of the less fortunate, which led her to be attracted to them. His father was the complete opposite; having come from a blue-collar, working-class family, Patrick coveted every dollar he earned. He didn’t believe in spending his money frivolously but knew enough not to begrudge his wealthy wife the ability to spend hers, because she would turn on him like a rabid animal. Graeme knew his parents did not agree on everything, but he rarely witnessed their quarrels.
He noticed Kayana’s eyelids drooping and her attempt to smother a yawn behind her napkin. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap while I clean up here?”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay, Kayana. Your eyes are nearly closed, and you can’t stop yawning.”
She flashed a lopsided grin. “I shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine,” she said around another yawn.
Pushing back his chair,
Graeme rose to his feet, rounded the table, and bending slightly, swept her up in his arms. “There’s no way I’m going to let you drive home in your condition.”
Kayana pushed against his chest. “What are you doing?”
“I’m taking you upstairs, because I don’t want you to fall and mess up that beautiful face.”
She closed her eyes. “You think I’m beautiful?”
Graeme noticed she was slurring. He doubted she was under the influence with two glasses of wine, attributing her lethargy to exhaustion. He hadn’t questioned why she preferred to sit when she’d given him his first cooking lesson. It wasn’t easy getting up before dawn seven days a week to begin the workday, especially if she’d stayed up late the night before.
Lowering his head, he pressed a kiss on her hair. “Yes. You’re very beautiful. What time did you go to bed last night?”
“It’s was around midnight. I stayed up late reading.”
“Was it worth losing sleep?”
She gave him a mysterious smile as he climbed the staircase. “Yes.”
Graeme could identify with her. She had her books and he his manuscripts. On a number of occasions, he’d stayed up all night writing when he was scheduled to teach a first-period class. He was able to remain alert until mid-morning, then he would crash on a love seat in the teacher’s lounge and take a power nap until it was time for his next class. Graeme had burned the candle at both ends one too many times; when he nearly crashed his car as he drove home, he was forced to access his priorities, teaching or writing, and it was a no-brainer. He’d taught for twenty years, and at fifty-two, he could realistically write for the next twenty years. Writing full-time would allow him more freedom than he’d ever had as a teacher.
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