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He pressed his lips against the tip of her nose and then her forehead, kissing both so gently. “I don’t want you to worry or stress. It will happen, I promise.”
Her arms circled his neck, and she whispered, “I love you,” in his ear.
“You never have to worry. That’s why I’m here.”
Honey believed him.
And she squeezed him back so tightly to let him know.
FORTY-ONE
BILLIE
JARED WOULD BE ARRIVING at my house in thirty minutes, and I wasn’t even close to being ready. My kitchen was a disaster, I was still wearing yoga pants, and I was really starting to question why I had offered to cook for him.
When I’d reached out to him a few days ago, I had this strong urge to get in the kitchen and make a few dishes I could photograph. I hadn’t actually considered the logistics of having him in my apartment and putting my brain in a space where we were going to eat together again—food I’d be making, in a place that was extremely personal.
I’d thought about the menu all day yesterday, racking my brain for a dish that would be a good fit for us. What I decided on was something I’d made many times before, a meal I didn’t even need a recipe for. This morning, I went to the market and purchased the ingredients. Once I returned home, I took my time preparing everything. I didn’t rush through lunch. Even this afternoon, I wasn’t in a hurry. I had known what needed to be done to have it all completed, and I’d thought I’d have plenty of time to get myself ready, so I wouldn’t have to stress before he arrived.
Except that was all I was doing, and the countdown had begun.
I left everything in the oven and hurried into my bedroom, putting on a pair of skinny jeans and a casual T-shirt I tied at the waist. In my bathroom, I threw my hair in a messy bun, swiped some gloss over my lips, and sprayed myself with a body mist before I went back to the kitchen.
I was just finishing the dishes when I heard the doorman call from the tablet. I walked over to the back of the kitchen and pressed the button to connect us.
“Hello?” I said into the speaker.
“Mr. Morgan is here for you, Ms. Paige.”
“Please send him up. Thank you.”
My stomach immediately tensed, feeling heavy and anxious, my heart racing as I made my way to the door. It was a short hallway. Once he got off the elevator, he wouldn’t have to walk far, so I was there a few seconds after he knocked.
“Hey,” he said when I opened the door.
Even though this was the serious side of Jared that stared back at me, I was instantly reminded of why I’d wanted to kiss him so badly the other night.
“Hi. Come in.” I backed up several feet and turned around, walking deeper into my apartment.
“It smells great in here,” he said as I made my way into the kitchen. I was standing at the sink when he finally came in. “Nice place.”
“Is it what you pictured?” I didn’t know why I had asked, but for some reason, I wanted the answer.
He took a seat on one of the barstools and said, “Yes.”
I slid him a glass of wine, deciding I liked the way he looked in my space. “Why? I have to hear this.”
He took a drink from the glass, his eyes never leaving mine. “I imagined soft and understated yet bright and cheerful at the same time, like your personality.”
“Thank you … I think.” I laughed and went over to the side counter.
Lifting the charcuterie board I had made, I placed it not far from where he sat. Since I’d paired it all with the wine and dinner, I’d focused on lighter cheeses and nuts. Dried fruits and herb-flavored crackers. I had thrown in several chocolates just to sweeten up the corners.
“Are you going to tell me what you made?” He popped several cranberries into his mouth, followed by some brie.
Now that everything was finally in its place, I stood across the counter from him and shook my head. “I’d like to keep you in suspense.”
But since I really needed to check the meat, I slid my hand in a mitt, and I lifted the top of the Dutch oven. I checked the color and the amount of juice in the pan, and then I pierced it with a fork to make sure it was the texture I wanted. Pleased with what I saw, I put the lid back on.
