by Rae Kennedy
“Let me get it.”
“Oh, no that’s fine, but thanks.”
“I want to get it for you.”
Is this a date? He really wants to purchase my coffee. So I let him. He leads me to a cute little table in the corner that is decoupaged with doilies. There are two rickety wood chairs with spindle legs that are all different colors and shapes—and lengths, I suspect, from the constant teetering back and forth.
“I’ve never noticed you around campus before this year. You’re an anthropology major, right?”
I nod.
“We would have had some classes together before. I think I definitely would have noticed you.”
“Yeah, I just moved here. It’s my fourth year of college but I have a couple more to go since not all the credits from my old school transferred. I have to make up a few prerequisites and core classes, but I’m on track for the most part.” I am totally babbling. But gratefully, he smiles and nods and doesn’t act the least bit disinterested in my boringness. In fact, he seems enthralled by everything I talk about—even my addiction to Jane Austen and other classic novels.
“Oh, yes!” He feigns a British accent and fans his face. “That Mr. Darcy sure is handsome!”
I balk. He knows who Mr. Darcy is? Pride and Prejudice is my favorite. I am telling him this when he starts chuckling at me.
“You are just too cute. I’m glad I could surprise you. I haven’t read the book but I’ve watched the movie like a million times with my mom.”
A warm gleam shows in his eyes when he mentions his mom. Oh man. Sexy, smart, and treats his mother well—that is the trifecta. I am done for.
We talk for another hour about everything, it seems. He makes me laugh and is kind enough to laugh at my not-so-funny jokes. He somehow finds every opportunity to gently brush my arm, touch my hand, and lean close when he reaches to get some napkins. Every time I can feel his warmth and smell his wonderful cologne, I am dizzy with his proximity. More than once I have to stop myself from leaning over and smelling the spot right behind his ear above his neck. I do resist, though.
My macchiato is long gone but I don’t want our time to end. He seems to be lingering as well. We get up to go and he holds the door open for me. The air outside is cool and crisp in contrast to the warm, embracing aroma in the coffee shop.
“Hey, so I can give you a ride home...if you want.”
I’m glad he doesn’t want to end it either. “Sure.”
* * *
When he pulls up next to the house, I expect him to say goodbye, but he gets out and rushes around the front of the car to open my door. I don’t think anyone has ever done that for me before. He takes my hand to help me out but doesn’t let go as we walk up the path. My hand fits perfectly into his. By the time we stop at the front porch, I feel giddy and my legs are like Jell-O. He sticks his hands in the pockets of his light, fitted jeans and looks at me through his lashes with a sheepish grin.
“I was wondering if I could get your number?”
He has the nerve to look uncertain of my answer as if we hadn’t just had the best time together. He is standing there in his soft gray crewneck sweatshirt that perfectly complements his tan skin. He could have just walked out of a J. Crew catalog and onto my porch. What else am I going to say?
“Yes! Of course.”
A smile lights up his face as he takes a step closer. I can feel his heat radiate toward me. He hands me his phone and I quickly enter my info then hand it back to him. He takes it, our fingers just barely grazing each other, sending a little jolt of electricity through my arm. Stepping closer, he leans in. The smell of him is intoxicating. His face is just inches from mine. I tilt my head a fraction toward him. My heartbeat quickens and my hands feel clammy. He goes right in and brushes his lips softly against my cheek. When he pulls back, he has that cute boyish smile on his face again. Then he turns and walks down the steps.
* * *
I flutter in the door and twirl into the kitchen. In fact, I twirl right into Cade, who I don’t see standing right in front of me. I haven’t seen much of him since I moved in, mostly just in passing. I can’t quite figure out his work schedule and he is often out until the early morning hours. Whoring it up around town, I’m sure. Bumping into him and almost knocking myself into the counter is not ideal.
“Whoa, Haley. Apparently, we shouldn’t meet in kitchens.”
“Hmmm.” I can’t keep my grin down.
“You’re beaming today.” He looks me up and down.
“Yup.” I glide past him to grab a pan. “And now I’m going to make dinner.”
“Oh? I’ll stay out of your way then.” He moves around the bar and sits on a stool, looking at me intently. “What are we having tonight?”
“We?” He hasn’t been home for dinner before.
“Duh.” Cocky grin. “Do you want some help?”
“Uh, no. I think I can handle it. I’m just making some fettuccine alfredo.” I start filling a large pot full of water for the pasta. I give him a look I’m sure reads as you can’t possibly be serious about helping me in the kitchen. Growing up, my mom worked evenings, so Tuck and I learned to fend for ourselves early on. I cooked dinner most nights and am more than proficient in the kitchen.
“Okay. I’ll just watch then.”
I suddenly feel a little self-conscious as I begin melting the butter for the béchamel sauce. Is he going to sit there the whole time and stare at me?
He is.
With a smug-ass grin, I might add.
The alfredo sauce is almost done—it just needs to thicken up a little. I am stirring it when he interjects.
“You know what would make that even better? A pinch of grated nutmeg.”
I look at him like he is fucking nuts. He is obviously fluent in facial expressions because he starts laughing at me.
“Seriously, just trust me.”
I narrow my eyes at him, studying him for a second. His clear blue eyes are looking right into mine, relaxed. Fine. I turn and start rifling through the spice cabinet for the nutmeg.
“No, no.” Cade gets up, walks over to the freezer, and retrieves a little baggy. Then he grabs a micro-planer from a drawer. They have some fancy cookware for two single guys. He comes over to where I am standing in front of the stove and playfully bumps me over with his hip.
“Fresh is always best.” He grinds a couple dashes of fresh nutmeg into the white sauce and stirs it in. He gets a spoon from the drawer to his right without even looking and tastes a lick. “Needs salt.” He adds some salt with one hand and stirs with his other. He has pushed up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows, exposing the myriad of black and gray tattoos on his defined forearms. I admire how his muscles flex under his tattooed skin as he works. This time when he tastes it, he gives a nod of approval. I am staring at him the whole time like he has just killed a kitten in front of me.
He glances over to me, that perfectly sexy smug smile on his face that kind of makes me melt and want to slap him at the same time. “Tuck hasn’t told you anything about me, has he?”
“Um, no. Not really.”
“Hmm. So you have no idea what I do?”
“No.” Obviously.
“I’m a chef.”
Well, shit. Now I look like a stuck-up bitch.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’m the sous chef at La Mer downtown.”
“Oh.” I am a little lost as to how to respond to that.
“Oh?”
“I guess I figured you worked at like a tattoo shop or something.”
“You know, I always thought that would be kind of fun—but then I have to remind myself that not everyone coming in for a tattoo is going to be a hot chick. There are a lot of sweaty guys you’d have to touch, too.”
That is more like the Cade-response I expect.
“Is that all you guys think about?”
“Pretty much.” He shrugs. “Hey, you know what would be great in this? Prosciutto. I just picked some up
the other day. I’ll make it.”
He is like a giddy little boy getting ingredients out of the fridge—a very adept little boy who is seriously skilled with a knife and hot frying pans. I watch him render the prosciutto until it is crispy and smells amazing. He totally took over but I don’t mind.
“You want some salad with this or something?” he asks.
“Uh, sure.”
“There’s some lettuce in the fridge. If you’ll clean it and chop it up, I’ll make some dressing. Caesar okay?”
“Yeah.” I begin getting the salad ready. I have never been bossed around in the kitchen before but I’m not about to complain.
By this time, my stomach is rumbling. Cade whips up some dressing in a small food processor, blending in olive oil after adding the anchovies. Seriously? Who keeps anchovies lying around the house? A professional chef, I guess. Suddenly all the gourmet-quality equipment makes total sense.
* * *
Best. Dinner. Ever.
We sit at the tiny bistro table situated in front of the bay window in the kitchen. Cade tells me about how he and Tuck met at a party his second year at the university. They were both trying to hook up with the same girl. Neither of them managed to close the deal. Apparently, she had a boyfriend. A big boyfriend—who was very jealous—but they did get matching black eyes.
Cade has an easy laugh that lights up his whole face. We are having such a nice time talking I almost forget he is a total dick. The food is delicious, and I decide I won’t argue with him again about telling me what to do in the kitchen. Only in the kitchen, though.
“That was amazing, Cade. But you know now you’ll have to make me dinner every night.”
“Oh, that’s how it works, is it?”
“Yup.”
His smile is wide and gorgeous, but his eyes are devious. “That could probably be arranged—as long as you don’t mind eating at weird times. I usually work the swing shift at the restaurant.”
“I’m pretty flexible.”
His eyes widen a fraction. Uh-oh. He definitely read more into that than I intended.
“I meant my schedule!”
“Of course you did.” He sits back with a placating nod and licks his bottom lip. Oh shit.
My phone rings and I jump in my seat, forgetting what that sound is for a second. A phone? I don’t understand. When I go to answer it, I don’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Adam.”
Ahh!
“Oh, hey. How’s it goin’?” Keeping it casual. Good call.
“Uhh, great. It’s not too soon for me to call, is it?”
I’m sure my face lights up like a little girl just given a pony as I step away from the table and into the hall.
“No way.” Pshaw, call me anytime you want.
“Good, because I was wondering if you would go to dinner with me tomorrow and I was hoping to catch you before you made other plans.”
Plans? What the hell are those?
“No plans. I’d love to go to dinner with you.” Embarrassing, jumping-up-and-down dance party in my head.
“Cool! Pick you up at seven?”
“Sounds great.”
“See you then.”
I am practically skipping when I come back out. Cade is at the sink rinsing off the dishes.
“Good call then?” he asks.
“Uh huh.” I can’t hold in my squeal. “I got a date for tomorrow!”
His face falls just a fraction. “Already backing out of our standing dinner arrangement?”
“I guess you’ll just have to make me lunch or—no! Even better, breakfast!”
“Deal.” He returns to laid-back Cade who is unaffected. “So, who’s this date with?”
“A guy in one of my classes. We went out to coffee today. His name is Adam.”
“Oh, so that’s why you have that same shit-eating grin on your face as earlier.”
“Hey!” I smack him across the shoulder. “Be nice. I like him.”
“He sounds dreamy,” he says, but the playfulness from before seems to be gone. After he finishes with the dishes, he rather abruptly walks toward the door, grabs the black jacket and leaves without a glance back or a goodbye.
Later that night, I figure out where he went when I hear him and someone in heels stumble down the hall and into his room. Followed by noises worthy of a porno.
Fucking fantastic.
CHAPTER 3
The next morning I forgo the shower and just put my hair up, throw on my most comfortable pair of thread-bare jeans and a zip-up hoodie. I only have two morning classes then I will be able to spend the rest of the day getting ready for my date.
As I round the corner from the hall, a savory scent wafts over from the kitchen and makes my mouth water. But the kitchen is empty. As I get closer and the aroma becomes richer and saltier, I know it is coming from the kitchen, but there is no food and, more noticeably, no Cade. I approach the counter and then see a note.
Had to leave early this morning but I never go back on a deal. Breakfast is in the oven.
-Cade
I open the barely warmed oven and sure enough, oh my good lord. Eggs Benedict. I split my fork down the center of the perfectly poached egg, the bright yellow yolk oozing out slowly. I don’t usually like a runny yolk but this one is so smooth and creamy. The hollandaise sauce is rich and the perfect balance to the salty ham. I devour it. So quickly and unladylike that I am glad no one is here to witness it.
Before I leave for class, I scribble him back just under his note.
That was ridiculously delicious. Thank you. But if you keep this up it’s definitely going to go straight to my butt.
-Haley
* * *
My Sociology professor announces the next assignment: group project. I’d rather slam my head against this table. It would be easy. If I hit my head hard enough, I might be excused from this assignment...
I look around the room. Everyone seems relaxed enough, chatting happily with smiles on their faces. The handful of people in my immediate vicinity have already paired up. I don’t know anyone’s name. Making new friends has never been my strong suit. Probably has something to do with my resting bitch-face. My heart beats faster. I fucking hate group projects.
“Haley!” A tall blonde comes over to me. She has a huge, toothy smile and bright blue eyes. In fact, her eyes are a little far apart for her face, but she is unusually pretty. “Do you want to partner up with me?” She sits in the seat next to me, her smile lights up her whole face. She has a small gap between her two front teeth and faint freckles on her nose. Her long hair is thick and straight, the light bounces off it like a halo.
I have no idea who this glow-y chick is.
I blink at her a couple times. “Uhh, sure.”
“Ohmygosh! How rude of me. I’m Court.”
Court turns out to be a great partner. We have our project roughly outlined by the end of class, our respective parts to research over the weekend, and a plan to reconvene in class Monday.
“Hey, do you want to come out with me tonight? My roommates and I are going to go grab a few beers and watch the game.”
Is it that obvious I haven’t made any friends yet?
“That sounds like fun, but I have plans tonight.”
“Next time then!” Court waves and heads off in the other direction.
* * *
When I get home from school I am exhausted. Cade is still gone and Tuck is at work. There is a huge merger going down at his firm and he has been going in early and working late every night. He also admitted to me that he is “sorta” seeing this girl named Ali. And for just “sorta” seeing this girl, she sure takes up a lot of his time.
I’m going to take a nap. Then I will be all well-rested for my date.
The nap is a good decision.
I spend way too long getting ready—much longer than normal. I style my hair with my iron to amplify its natural curl and then grapple back and forth
about whether to leave it down or put it up. Maybe only half up? Everything I do only seems to make it worse so I just leave it down by default. I do a gray smoky eye with dark mascara that makes the gold flecks in my light brown eyes stand out.
I stare at the clothes hanging in my closet. I own exactly four dresses, but I don’t want to wear any of them. I need to go shopping. I go with the navy dress I wore to my cousin’s wedding because it is sophisticated but still hugs my body in all the right places, showing off my slim waist, adequate cleavage, and flowing down just a few inches above my knees. I finish off the look with my silver four-inch heels that make my short legs look sexy and actually give me some height so I can walk amongst the normal-heighted people.
In the living room, I wait for Adam. I know the house is empty but I still feel all disappointed there is no one here to tell me how great I look. You know, just a little ego boost before the big date. Standing there alone all done-up, I suddenly feel incredibly nervous and jittery.
I need a drink. Wine.
There is some chardonnay in the fridge and I happily pour myself a glass. It is cold and crisp and goes to my head quickly. Wine usually doesn’t make me so giddy, but then I remember how I slept through lunch. Figures.
As I finish the glass and prepare to pour myself another, I see the note on the counter. Cade has added to our running correspondence—he must have come and gone while I slept.
I can tell you from first-hand knowledge—you don’t need to worry about your ass.
-Cade.
It’s just the wine that is making my cheeks so hot. Really. At the end, he has drawn a little winky face. Winky face? I find the dichotomy of tattoo-covered Cade drawing me a winky face inexplicably hilarious. The giggle emerging from my lips sounds foreign to me.
Wow, was that extra alcoholic wine? My absurd laughing fit is quickly interrupted by the doorbell.
* * *
Adam helps me out of his sporty red coupe with a warm and gentle hand.
“You really do look magnificent tonight.”
“Thanks.” I look down as my cheeks grow warm. “Again.” Don’t get me wrong, I know I look fabulous. I spent half the afternoon making sure of it, but he’s the one who looks devastatingly handsome. He’s dressed in a soft charcoal gray sweater and dark jeans as he leads me to the restaurant. I laugh to myself when I look up and see where we are. La Mer.