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I came down the hall and found him waiting for me in the oversized room off the kitchen. I lifted my arms from my sides. “Maybe a little big?” I asked, grinning. “I’m guessing you’re… six-one, or so?” I asked. “And maybe a coupla pounds heavier?”
He came to stand in front of me, lifting the T-shirt’s shoulders away from mine, and laughed. “Try six-three and at least thirty pounds heavier than you,” he corrected. “You’re lean for sure, Chad.”
“I may be lean, but I’m strong, mister,” I teased, posing like a boxer.
“I wouldn’t mess with you.”
Cole headed for the kitchen. Once there, he looked in the fridge. “You hungry?” he asked, his head hidden behind the door.
“Starved,” I replied, joining him. “What ya got?”
Cole quickly shut the refrigerator before I could peek. “Not much.”
I reached for the freezer door instead, but he intercepted me and gripped my hand. This close to him, I was overwhelmed by how good he smelled. Fresh and citrus-based. A very clean scent.
“Lemme see what you have,” I said, slightly elbowing him aside.
I opened the freezer and found stacked boxes of Healthy Choice frozen dinners, and one package of chicken breast inside. Using my butt to push him away, I then opened the fridge while he tried to pull me away. He was strong, but I was on a mission.
“I need to go shopping,” he admitted.
He had three cans of sparkling water, two tomatoes, an onion, some kind of packaged sandwich meat, and two boxes of Chinese takeout leftovers from one of the local Chinese restaurants in town. I pulled the takeout from within and did the smell test.
I winced after getting a whiff. “From when?” I asked, holding the small, white box to his face.
“About a week ago,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know how to cook.”
“Any dried pasta in a cabinet?” I asked, glancing around the kitchen. “And maybe some jarred pasta sauce?”
He shook his head, appearing disappointed that he wasn’t prepared for guests. “I’m sorry.”
“Not a problem,” I stated. “Be right back.”
I headed toward the deck and the open slider. “Wait. Where are you off to?” he questioned.
“Home,” I said. “I’ll be right back. Open a good red and let it air out,” I instructed. “Back in a flash.”
“But…” he began, but I was already out the door and didn’t look back.
* * *
“How’d you learn to cook like this?” Cole asked, gesturing toward a near-empty serving bowl. “That was the absolute best pasta dish I’ve tasted.”
“Mom,” I replied. “And do not tell her what you just told me. She fancies herself the queen of spaghetti and all things Italian.”
“So your heritage is Italian?” he asked.
I lifted my arm toward his face. “Norwegian. I just tan well.”
“The salad, the bread, everything was amazing,” he praised. “Your mother taught you this?”
“Yep. I always helped as a kid and can replicate almost all her dishes,” I said. “My dad can as well.”
Cole topped off my wine and began clearing the dishes. I stood and helped move them to the kitchen. We stood side by side as he rinsed them and I placed them in the dishwasher. After wiping up the counter, he grabbed another bottle and pointed toward the beautifully appointed sitting area.
“You still have time to visit?” he asked.
I plopped into a distressed leather couch and he sat across from me in a broad-striped upholstered chair. “I have all night,” I said. “Well, not overnight,” I corrected.
