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His friends were in relationships and happy. Maybe being in a relationship or in love wasn’t so bad.
He got up and showered, stopped at the wine store, picked up a nice Italian red, a bouquet of assorted pink flowers—Anne liked pink—and drove to her house. The lights were on, and the house looked homey and welcoming. He stopped to check on the outside security cameras. Satisfied they were focused right, he rang the doorbell.
Anne opened the door. Her blond hair was bathed in background light. She looked like an angel, plus the tantalizing scents coming from the kitchen were enough to make a grown man cry.
“Hey. Come on in.” She opened the door wide and stepped back.
He handed her the flowers and the bottle of wine. “It’s a Sangiovese. I’m told this will be perfect with what you’re making.”
“Great. I made some bruschetta to munch on while I make the garlic bread.”
She reached for the wine and bouquet and sniffed the flowers. “Oh, I love roses and hydrangeas. Hydrangeas don’t do well in Florida, unfortunately. The carnations are pretty too. Some people don’t like them, but I do. Let’s get these in a vase.”
Killian followed her into the kitchen.
Anne pulled out a vase from a cabinet and cut the stems. Who knew how to do that? “Cutting the stems helps them stay fresh longer.” She fluffed out the flowers and set the vase on the kitchen table.
“It smells so good in here,” he said.
“I know. There’s something about spaghetti and meatballs that just screams home.” She busied herself setting out toasted bread, some sweet-smelling green stuff, fresh-cut tomatoes, mozzarella, black olives, marinated mushrooms, and blue cheese. Then she arranged some other kind of cheese.
“I picked up some provolone and salami at the Italian grocers.” Anne laid everything out on a tray and stood back, eyeing her creation.
Killian wondered if she was expecting company. There was so much food, and they hadn’t had dinner yet. “What’s the green stuff? It smells good.”
“Pesto. I make it with basil. One of my favorite herbs. I grow it in my garden,” she replied.
“Where do I begin?” Killian was at a loss. Everything looked delicious.
“Let me make a plate for you.” She busied herself with topping the bread with some ingredients, placing some cheese and salami on his plate, and handing it to him. “Can I get you some wine or beer?”
“I’d love a beer, but only if I’m not making a faux pas here.”
Anne laughed. “You can have whatever you enjoy. I’m not one of those people who must serve appropriate wine with food. I believe you should be able to drink what you like.” She stood and walked over to the refrigerator. “Two beers coming up.”
She handed him a bottle and kept one for herself.
“No glass?” he asked.
Anne shook her head. “I’ve always enjoyed beer out of a bottle.”
He asked her about her day and where Silas was. She wondered how the job was coming along and if he was away often.
They laughed and ate and laughed some more. Finally, Anne got up, claiming she had to put the pasta on and the garlic bread in the oven.
Killian leaned back in the chair. The kitchen was homey and sitting in it reminded him of how different it was when he was a kid. The heck with appetizers; his parents wouldn’t know what to do with them, and there were only three chairs at the table since his father broke one in a drunken fit, not that he ever sat at the table with his wife and kids.
Anne sat back down. “You were far away. Is everything okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I was thinking how nice it was to sit and talk in a kitchen. How normal.”
“You didn’t have that growing up?”
“Ha,” he scoffed. “Dad was a drunk and an abuser. My mother made do with what she had, but we were always hungry, and whatever we had, it was always the cheapest in the store and never enough.”
Her blue eyes teared. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”
Killian shrugged. “You get used to it. The service was good for me because we were thrown into various situations and exposed to different things. Listen, I’d like to ask…” He never got a chance to finish the sentence because he was interrupted by a bell dinging. Damn.
