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He kissed my neck. “If you say it’s good, then it’s good.”
“I can’t try those dishes.” I shrugged.
He dropped his arms. “It’s not a lot of cannabis to do much to you except relax. And trust me, you need to fucking relax.”
I pointed at his mouth. “And that is why fucking you is a bad idea.”
Undaunted, Jace asked, “How can you be the chef of Embers by Kimble and won’t even try the food? That makes no fucking sense, Snookie.”
“Is it that hard to call me by my name?”
He quirked an annoyed brow. “Whatever. Have you ever cooked a new dish and didn’t try it?”
“Well, no.”
“Then don’t be so stubborn that you won’t give marijuana a chance.”
“It’s marijuana, and I don’t use marijuana. Why can’t you understand that? I’m not judging you if that’s what you do.”
He asked skeptically, “Are you sure? Because it sounds like it. I would understand it if you didn’t drink, but I watched you taste several wines and cocktails for the bar. Your favorite is Cabernet Sauvignon. Marijuana is safer than alcohol.”
I was impressed that he paid that much attention, though I didn’t acknowledge it. “Alcohol is legal.”
Jace crossed his arms, and I had to train my gaze on his face, not his bulging biceps that his black sweater hugged perfectly. “Is that the issue? Because alcohol used to be illegal and in plenty of states, marijuana is legal.”
“Not here.”
“And slavery and segregation used to be legal.”
I chortled. “Are you seriously comparing our freedom to the legalization of marijuana?”
He slapped his palm with the back of his other hand. “The point I’m making is that you’re only judging marijuana and people who use it because it’s not sanctioned by the government. It’s the only reason.”
“Maybe I don’t like the way it smells.”
“If you vape it, you won’t smell it. Give me another reason.”
Instead of answering him, I walked to the pantry and pulled out elbow macaroni. “Mac and cheese?”
Jace stopped frowning. “Like the cheese on top is crusted and brown?”
I arched a brow. “If you stop yapping, you can help me. For now, can we table the discussion?”
To my relief, he nodded. “I may not be a world-class chef studying in France in high school like you, but I can dabble.” He went to the sink and washed his hands.
“You remembered when I went to Paris? That was the summer before you went to college.” The summer, I ran from home to get away from the disappointment and embarrassment of the prom and the fact that he was leaving for good. By the time I returned, he’d already left for Howard early for training.
“Missed you every day. You were gone until it was time for me to leave. Never said goodbye to each other.”
Although my heart smiled at his admission, I didn’t want to travel to the past. We had different memories. I could acknowledge that though he liked to tease me, he and Remi were protective over me. I could admit that he openly waited for me after school when he could to walk me home. On those rare walks when we were alone because our siblings were otherwise occupied, he would loop his arm around my neck and pull me close, kissing my temple or my cheek. It was just him and me for twenty-four minutes, laughing and talking about anything. He might have felt something for me, but his feelings were definitely not the same. He always had some girl waiting in the wings and wearing his jacket. And I was content just for a conversation with him or a smile.
Pitiful when I think back to the wistful girl who believed that the good girl got the boy. If I waited long enough, he would truly see me, and no one would love him more. Years and life have taught me that the aggressive bad girls caught the attention and kept the boy. Being a good and honest woman who loved cooking and looked forward to the day she could cook for her man and children, it didn’t seem to matter to men these days. The man in the refrigerator, grabbing different cheeses and butter, may want me now, but some glamorous, aggressive woman would catch his attention sooner or later. I had to find some way to keep my guard up even if we had sex. Because he wouldn’t stop until he got me, and I wasn’t sure I had a problem with that anymore.
We soon had the pasta boiling and grated cheese side by side while the speakers played music. I had sharp cheddar, and he had smoked gouda and medium cheddar. He sang horribly to the songs that played, especially when he sang Never Should Have Let You Go by Hi-Five to me.
I laughed as I wiped my hands. “I am so glad you’re not perfect in everything because that voice is horrible.”
“I’m not good in a lot of things, especially relationships. Two failed marriages under my belt.”
