Chapter Seven
Ava
Looking myself over in the mirror, butterflies turn my stomach into a knot and my heart pounds against my chest. The kitchen timer beeps, and I’m pulled to the present before I become a puddle of nerves.
Jason is on his way over to my place. I’ve made my famous mashed potatoes, and by “my” famous, I mean my mother’s. Slipping on an oven mitt, I glance at the time. He’ll be here any minute now. I remove the meatloaf, peek inside, and smile.
“Perfect.”
My stomach growls, and I laugh. Not much can get between me and food. Even the butterflies don’t stand a chance.
I’ve lost track of how many dates and mini dates—as I like to refer to them as—Jason and I have shared. He’s backed his claim of being a gentleman, even when my body turns me into a hussy, needy for his touch.
Tonight.
I’m feeding him this delicious meal in hopes I can seduce him. In the past I would wait a bit longer before sleeping with a man, but Jason is different. Not only have we already had sex, but I’m comfortable in my skin around him.
The night he surprised me with gifts, he knocked down a few more inches of the walls barricading my heart. My face warms merely from the memory of how I’d kissed him so openly in my shop.
Kenny, my employee working that night, had been kind enough not to bring it up. But there was no way he missed me sitting on Jason’s lap or the scorching kiss we exchanged.
I’ve never had a man be so thoughtful. Those mugs have been on my mind since I spotted them, but I haven’t been able to get down there myself. Looking down, I lift my time turner and smile. It’s a gorgeous piece I wouldn’t have bought for myself, but I’m super excited to own it.
Jason doesn’t know anything about the series, yet one small moment was all it took for him to show he listens. Our daily conversations are sometimes short, but it’s given us time to get to know each other better. We text and talk over the phone, and a few times we even video-chatted while I cooked myself dinner.
A knock at the door draws me from my musings, and I drop the necklace onto my chest. With a quick glance, I see everything is mostly ready and hurry to the door.
“Hi!”
His eyes move down my body, a second longer over my breasts. I shudder at the attention. “Hello, sweetheart,” he says and offers a bottle of wine. Our lips brush with a short and sweet kiss before I move out of his way. “I remember you mentioned enjoying Malbecs. I’ve never had this one.”
“Thank you!” I read the label and move toward the kitchen. “I haven’t either. It will go great with dinner.”
“It smells delicious. What did you cook?” he asks, peering around. “Meatloaf?”
“Yes,” I say carefully, the tone in his voice makes me second-guess my choice. “Is it a problem? Do you hate it?”
“No, I actually love it. It’s my favorite food.”
I grin and grab two wine glasses. “Really?”
“Yeah. Mom used to make it any time I came into town for a visit.”
“A woman with great taste!”
“Yes, she does. She’d love you.” He whispers the latter, and my heart clenches at his sadness.
Torn between giving him comfort and space, I grab plates and begin to serve our food. “Did you get to see her today?”
“I went by, but she was resting.”
I nod and decide a lighter topic may be in order. We grab our dishes and wine and take them to the table. Things get progressively better. There’s still a ring of sadness in his eyes, but otherwise he’s perked up.
His fork clatters on the dish, and he leans back. “By far the best meatloaf I’ve ever eaten. Don’t tell my mother I said that.”
The praise brings me joy. “I’m glad you think so, and I wouldn’t dare tell her our secret.”
Jason helps me clear the table and insists he help with cleanup. He washes the dishes, mentioning he doesn’t know where anything goes. Side by side we work, the heat of his body reminding me where I want our night to go.
