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I take his phone and add my number to his contacts, and, as I pass him back the device, I hand over my own with it. “Do you think maybe I could getyournumber too? Since we’re now friends.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He puts his number in my phone, and then we both take another sip of our coffees, unsure what comes next in this conversation. I ought to finish editing this video and get it uploaded to the channel, but I don’t want to send Weston away. It was sweet he came to check on me. I find it difficult to believe that he was selfish when it came to putting Charlotte first.
He sets his coffee down with a small thud. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Crying alone in my apartment, probably.”
Sternly, he looks at me from beneath his eyelashes. I should be past the crying stage, I know, but it’s relentless. “Would you like to go for dinner with me?” he asks. “I’m not back on shift until Thursday, and I know I’ll end up at the bar with Adam throwing back tequila shots tonight if I don’t make other plans.”
“Did you ever cook for Charlotte?” I ask, and Weston blinks with surprise at what is seemingly a random question. But I’m going somewhere with this, if his answer is no.
“No.”
“Why not? Can’t you cook?”
Weston’s gaze continues to narrow with confusion. “I can cook to an acceptable degree. I just didn’t think to cook for her, I guess. We always went out.”
“I’ll have dinner with you tonight,” I say, a smug smile forming across my face, “but you have to cook. That’s what it means to put in effort. You’re now in training, so that when you meet the next love of your life, you’ll be thebestboyfriend.”
“Hmm.” Weston’s expression turns playful and I know instantly by the spark in his gaze that he’s totally on board with taking my advice. “My place around seven?”
“I don’t do any pork dishes, and I like white wine.”
“Got it.” He scoots back his chair and stands, head tilted as he finishes his coffee. “Don’t be late, Gracie Taylor.”
Something flutters in my stomach as he turns and walks away without another word, leaving me with only anticipation for our dinner tonight. He’ll teach me how to be happy on my own, and I’ll teach him how to make a woman feel special. Two friends helping each other heal their broken hearts, that’s all.
WESTON
“Have candles lit before she arrives,” says Brooks.
“I don’t have any.”
“You didn’t buy some?”
“Why the fuck would I buy candles?”
Brooks’ sigh rattles across the line. “You really are bad at this stuff.”
My phone is pressed between my ear and my shoulder, my hands busy peeling potatoes. I glance at the wall clock, and I still have twenty minutes until it turns seven. To account for the possibility of Gracie showing up late, I’ve made the choicenotto have dinner ready upon her arrival. I’ll cook the steaks once she’s here.
“Remind me once more how I do the sauce,” I ask Brooks.
“Pull the steaks out of the pan, toss in the shallots, brown them, then add the wine. Reduce it, lower the heat, whip in cold butter. Add your parsley, then serve over your steaks,” he instructs, then pauses. “You did buy parsley, didn’t you? Because I feel like you’re the type to think it doesn’t matter, but it does, Weston. The parsleymatters.”
I roll my eyes and toss the last peeled potato into the pot. “Yes, I bought the parsley.”
“And, for the love of God, don’t you dare offer her a beer with dinner. You bought wine, right? And you do have wine glasses to serve it in, don’t you?”
“Obviously.” I move down the counter and tear open the pack of asparagus, spreading them out on a chopping board. “Thanks, by the way. This is so much better than the chicken parm I was thinking of making.”
“No problem,” Brooks says. “I hope it goes well, even though it’s not a real date, so you say.” His words are teasing, and I know I should have kept my mouth shut about my situation with Gracie, but I really needed his advice tonight. He’s the only one of my friends with a long-term girlfriend who is madly in love with him, so he clearly does things right. Cooking romantic dinners is easy for him. He does this shit all the time.
“It’snota real date,” I say, trimming the ends off the asparagus. I grab my phone from between my ear and my shoulder and put it on speaker instead, setting it down on the counter. “Gracie is putting me through my paces so I know exactly where I fucked up with Charlotte. That’s it.”
“Hmm,” he says, unconvinced. “Does Adam know?”
“No way. If he finds out I’ve seen Gracie a few times since that night at the club, I’ll never hear the end of it. I haven’t even told Cameron, so don’t you dare say anything.”
