“I figured we could start out with something simple. Something you could make on your own, if you wanted to.” I grab a few more produce items and make my way over to grab pasta.
“How does pasta primavera with chicken francaise sound?” I toss some angel hair in the cart and she looks up at me almost terrified.
“Sounds like it’s perfect for me to screw up,” she jokes and scrunches her face at me.
“Don’t worry. I’m a good teacher. I won’t let you mess it up.” Her face relaxes a little and we make our way through the rest of the market.
As she fills me in on the project she was just recently assigned at work, she talks animatedly, clearly excited about the prospect of helping kids. Unfortunately, I can’t contribute much to the work topic.
“Are you all settled in your new place?” she asks as we approach the checkout.
“Pretty much. Got a few pieces of furniture delivered this week so I’m mostly set now.” Another topic that I don’t have much to contribute to. Unless me describing my white-walled and bare condo has recently been added to the list of really exciting things to talk about.
She offers to pay, which of course I refuse. “Thank you, Evan,” she finally concedes as we walk back out into the lot. She tells me to follow her to her house and I do, committing the directions to memory on the way.
On the short drive to her place, I give myself the mental pep talk that I obviously need. I want tonight to go well. Despite all the talk of dead husbands and lung cancer last week, it seemed to me like we hit it off. That doesn’t mean she felt that way and the nervousness with which things started out at the grocery store would suggest that maybe she doesn’t feel like things are going well at all.
She pulls into her garage in front of me, the automatic door sliding up a bit unevenly—looks like it could use a few tweaks to make it work more smoothly. But despite that, even from the driveway, I can tell her house is a home. The soft green siding is offset by black shutters, and even in the winter, there are a few small bushes to keep the front garden looking inviting and well maintained.
She walks out of the garage and steps in front of me as we make our way up the front steps. After unlocking the door, she holds it opened for me as I walk past her, my hands filled with the bags of groceries.
“Kitchen’s right through there,” she directs me and hangs her coat up. The kitchen is small and perhaps a little outdated, but after cooking in restaurant grade firehouse kitchens for the last twenty plus years, even I can admit that I’m a bit spoiled.
“Can I take your jacket? Get you something to drink?”
“Yes and yes. Thanks, Lucy.”
I unload the groceries and poke my head into the pantry to pull out some spices and a few staples that I assumed she would have.
“Here you go.” She slides a beer over to me.
“Funny. I don’t remember these being in the cart.” I twist open the cap and take a sip.
“I stopped the other day and picked them up for you. They were what you had a Joe’s last week so I hope I got the right kind.” She shrugs her shoulders, that nervousness from before returning.
“Thanks, that was . . . nice of you.” I stumble over my words a little, mainly because it’s been so long since someone’s done something nice for me − even if it’s something as simple as remembering what kind of beer I drink.
“I’m going to go change real quick. I’ll be right back, okay?” I nod and she pads away from me.
When it’s just me in the kitchen, I lean up against the counter and scrub a hand over my face and through my hair. I need to pull this together. It shouldn’t be too difficult to make dinner with someone who I’ve already spent time with and gotten along with. But apparently, it’s more difficult than you would think.
Maybe it’ll get easier once we start cooking.
When I hear her soft footsteps coming down the stairs and back into the kitchen, I grab a large pot for the pasta and fill it with water.
“Put me to work,” she jokes as she rolls up the long sleeve of her light pink thermal t-shirt. A shirt that clings to her body in all the right places. Speaking becomes impossible as I take in how she looks. Her hair is pulled up into a loose ponytail. The few strands that hang freely about her face make it look sexy and not at all sloppy. Even though I’m mourning the loss of being able to look at her legs, the jeans she’s changed into leave very little to the imagination in the way of her curves. Everything about her is soft and feminine, pretty and delicate.
“Hello? You in there somewhere?” Snapping her fingers in front of my face, I wonder how long I just zoned out for.
“Sorry, I was just running through the checklist in my head.” Sidestepped that one, but the blush on her face suggests that she knows what I was really doing.
I hand her a cutting board and slide over the salad and vegetables. “Prove you can handle this, and I’ll promote you.” I wink and she elbows me.
“That’s low. Insulting me in my own kitchen.” There it is—the light, flirtation that was there last week, and even last month. It helps me relax and smile broadly over at her.
We talk about little things—how Melanie and Katie are both adjusting to college life. Lucy’s face absolutely glows with pride as she talks about Melanie. It’s not difficult to understand why—the girl sounds pretty amazing, even if the description is coming from a slightly biased source.
“Salad’s all done. Now what?” Grabbing a small towel, she wipes her hands clean and sets the bowl of salad to the side.
“Not bad.” I inspect her work. “Next up is the squash and zucchini for the pasta.”
I demonstrate how to cut everything into uniform pieces to make sure everything cooks within the same time frame. When I’ve got about half of the zucchini done, she looks up at me with rapt attention. “I can totally do that.”
I step out of the way and let her take her station at the cutting board. I watch her for a few moments, making sure she’s doing okay, before stepping away to get another cutting board out for the chicken.
“Shit!” Her curse makes me smack my head on the underside of the counter.
“What happened?” I rush over to her side and see that she’s nicked her finger.
“It’s nothing.” She tries to shoo me away, but it’s definitely not nothing.
“Let me take a look.” Taking her small hand in mine, I inspect her sliced thumb. “It doesn’t look like it’ll need stitches.” I grab the dishrag and wrap it on her finger. “Here, keep some pressure on it and I’ll get you bandaged up in a second.”
She nods quickly and tells me where the bathroom is.
After pulling some first aid supplies out of the bathroom, I come back down stairs and kneel before her as she sits in a kitchen chair. I clean it and get it all wrapped up before looking up at her. Smiling, I tease, “You were supposed to chop the veggies, not your fingers.”
She quirks an eyebrow at me. “Finger, not fingers. At least give me that much credit.”
Looking over at the cutting board, I cringe. “So much for those, huh?” I quickly clean up the mess and scan the cabinet for at least a jar of sauce of something to salvage the pasta part of the dinner. She wasn’t kidding when she said she doesn’t cook much. I figure I can do something with the chicken to make a sauce, so I start the pasta and get everything out for the chicken.
I slide a plate of flour in front of Lucy and show her how to coat the chicken so I can sauté it.
“This I can handle.” She laughs.
After she’s done with the first one, I lay it in the pan carefully and she looks on in awe as is sizzles in the pan.
“Can I try this one?” She holds a floured cutlet in her hand and she looks so intent on proving that she can do something.
“Sure, just go slow. Don’t want to add a burn to the list of injuries for the night.”
“Oh, stop it!”
“Did you just roll your eyes at me?”
“Maybe. I could do it
again if you missed it.”
“Just put the chicken in the pan already.” I watch as she carefully does as she’s told and we both stare wide-eyed as the bandage that I thought was secured to her thumb, effortlessly slides off and into the pan.
Her hand flies to cover her mouth. “Shoot. I’m so sorry, Evan.” Trying to fish the Band-Aid out proves to be pointless as it sizzles and pops in the hot oil.
I turn off the burner and set it to the side. “Maybe you are better off with microwave dinners,” I tease and she’s has the good sense to laugh.
“I can’t believe I ruined the meal.”
“I would offer to make something else, but you really have nothing here. Seriously, Lucy, you need to stock up on some basics.”
Why? Because I plan to cook for her more often?
“I can fix it.” She stands with renewed energy and I wonder what the hell she has in mind. Really, nothing can be salvaged. It looks like we’ll be feasting on salad. Yum. And yes, that was sarcasm.
A loud chuckle slips out as I overhear her place an order for pizza delivery. She covers the mouthpiece and asks, “Pepperoni or mushrooms?”
“Both.” I laugh again and take the last sip of my beer.
“See? I can do more than microwave.” Hands on her hips and everything, she looks adorable—so much so that I have to smile at her.
We’ve got the kitchen cleaned up just as the pizza arrives. What I had hoped to be a . . . well, I’m not really sure what I hoped for tonight to be, but I hadn’t intended pizza on paper plates while watching TV.
We get situated on the couch and I scan the living room, taking in the cozy hominess that fills the room. “You ever use that?” I tip my chin at a beautiful brick façade fireplace that’s in the corner of the room.
“Um, no. Definitely not.” She huffs a small laugh.
“You maintain it though, right?” I may be retired, but the firefighter in me will always put safety first. “I mean they need to be cleaned and all that. You need to be safe with it.”
“Yes, sir,” she jokes and I realize maybe I’m being a little over the top. Just because she’s on her own, doesn’t mean that she’s an invalid. Patting my arm, she smiles up at me. “I get it inspected every year; don’t worry. They were just here the other day, actually. I was thinking of getting it closed up, since I never use it.”
Now talk about a waste. What I wouldn’t give to have something like this in my place. Hell, my condo has nothing in it that screams of “home.”
“Oh, I love this movie.” She settles on Forrest Gump as I grab my second slice.
“So, you already know about my history. What about you? Have you ever been married?” Forrest’s proposal to Jenny plays in the background.
“No. I mean, I’ve had a few relationships here and there, but work always got in the way. Staying single was somehow easier.”
“Same here. I mean, when Melanie was a kid, it was much easier to just focus on that part of my life.”
“Now?” I hazard a question that takes even me by surprise.
She puts her plate down on the coffee table and swallows back a large sip of water. “Now, I’m not so sure.”
Suddenly, my mind races with the possibilities of what her words mean. It’s crazy to think how just a few encounters with Lucy have made me re-evaluate my feelings. Obviously, she feels the same way. A calm and peaceful air falls on us as a small smile curls at my lips.
A comfortable silence fills the space as we watch the movie, recalling some memories when certain scenes come up.
Nothing prepares me for Lucy’s reaction when Jenny and Forrest get married and she tells him she’s sick. I try not to look at her, wanting to avoid making her feel like she’s in the spotlight or anything like that. I do notice a few stray tears streaking down her cheeks so I can only imagine what’s to come.
As we watch Forrest sitting beside Jenny’s grave, reading a letter from their son, Lucy reaches for a napkin. Clutching it to her chest, I can see her breathing rapidly. What were just a few tears earlier is now a steady stream. She doesn’t say anything, won’t even look at me, but I can’t watch her cry like this.
I shift on the small, overstuffed sofa and drape my arm around her. The top of her head fits perfectly into the crook of my shoulder. The scent of her hair takes over my senses; the sound of her softly sniffling through her tears tugs at my heart.
I alternate between squeezing her arm and tracing my fingers up over her shoulder. When she seems to have gathered her emotions, calming down a bit, my instincts take over and I act seemingly without thinking.
Or maybe I am thinking and I’m just afraid of what I’m thinking.
Gently pressing my lips to the top of her soft, brown hair feels like second nature. She tenses momentarily, and I realize I may have just overstepped my boundaries.
“Sorry about that.” I straighten in my seat and try to move my arm, but her fingers fall to my forearm. She looks up at me through long lashes with puffy, red eyes from crying.
“Don’t be.” Her voice is soft, angel-like. “It’s nice to be held.”
That piece of information prompts me to pull her even closer. “Well, I’m glad I could be of service.”
She laughs softly and then takes a deep breath before she shifts to move away from me, which just makes me pull her close once again. “Don’t,” planting another quick kiss to her head, “it’s nice to have someone to hold.”
So we stay like that through a sitcom and the beginning of the eleven o’clock news. When I feel her yawn into my chest, I move my arm, stretching it up over my head. She sits up and I stand to clear the plates and box of pizza.
When the coffee table is cleared and Lucy is finished washing most of the dishes, I grab my coat from its hook as she walks me to the front door.
“Sorry again about ruining everything.” She folds her arms across her chest and I actively have to remind myself that her eyes are about eight-inches north of where I want to be looking.
I pull my jacket over my shoulders and take a step closer to her. When I hold both of her arms, she tilts her head up to look at me. “Tonight was the best night I’ve had in a long time. Believe me, you ruined nothing.”
When she leans into my hand as I cup her jaw, I’m surprised to say the least. She turns her face up to mine, and it’s magnetic—a force, a pull between our lips that can’t be stopped.
Not that it seems like either one of us want to.
Slowly, she inches up on her toes. Her sweet breath caresses my lips and her hand cups my jaw in return. Our eyes lock, seeking permission for what we know is inevitable. The pink tip of her tongue darts out to trace her bottom lip. My thumb moves on its own accord and traces delicately over the spot that she just licked.
I move in, a centimeter at most away from her soft, plump lips. Her breathing staggers and I swear my heart feels like it’s going to burst through my chest.
The instant our lips touch, it’s like we simply melt together. There’s no heated rush of a wild first kiss—just a bright passionate glow surrounding us. There’s no awkward movements—whose head goes to which side or whose hands go where. There’s just heat—a spark that ignites so much feeling deep within my chest that it would be scary if it weren’t for the sweet woman softly pressed up against my body, panting with a breathlessness that shakes me to my core.
As her tongue licks the seam of my lips, my need to taste her takes over. Moving my hand from her jaw to the back of her head, I pull her even closer—closer than is humanly possible.
We get lost in each other for more than a few long moments—teasing, tasting, devouring. Placing her palms flat on my chest, she looks up at me with sparkling, bright, blue eyes.
“Wow,” she murmurs softly.
Brushing my knuckles down her cheek, I echo her thoughts. “Yeah, that was . . . wow.” I add clumsily as she steps out of my arms, “I guess I should get going.”
“Good night, Evan.” There’s a touch of reluctance
as we break away from each other; neither one of us are eager to end the night.
With one foot still in the hallway and one stepped over the threshold of the front door, I pause and gather my thoughts. Turning back to face her, I scrub my hand over my face. I feel like a giddy teenager heading home after my very first date. Given the stats of my recent and entirely non-existent love life, that’s not completely untrue.
Determined to change that, and so much more about my life, I step back into the hallway and pull the door closed behind me. Now that we’ve gotten that first kiss out of the way, I let my lips crash into hers with all of the desire I held in just moments before.
She gasps, shocked by my movements, I’m sure. My arms coil around her small waist and I lift her off the ground a few inches. Her softness pressed into my body is . . . it’s just right. There’s absolutely no other way to describe it. Her arms wrap around my neck as her fingers dance across my skin.
All of the tension we seemed to be fighting all night simply melts away and we kiss as if we’ve been kissing like this our entire lives.
Heavy breathing fills the space between us as I pull away. Our foreheads touch, and almost as if we’ve rehearsed it, we both say “wow” at the same time.
I pop a softer, much more innocent kiss, to her cheek. “Can I call you sometime this week? Maybe we can get together again?”
It only takes her a few seconds to answer, but in that short span of time, it feels like my heart stops beating. “You better.” She lifts an eyebrow and quirks a cute, dimpled smile.
As I pull my seatbelt across my chest and drive away from Lucy’s home, that dull ache I’ve felt in my gut since leaving Manhattan has lessened dramatically. Somehow, over the course of a few hours with Lucy, the life I used to be more than happy with, seems dull in comparison to the fire she’s just ignited in my heart.
Chapter Twelve
February 9, 2013
The Love Series Complete Box Set Page 95