"Hey, now. What if I could promise to never," his face is a mask of pure innocence, "ever buy any for myself. I don't think I'd even look good in that shade of pink." He drolls. I shake my head at his antics. I can't even imagine him in the bra and matching panties. My mind wanders to what he'd look like without anything but that sexy grin he's sporting.
My humor evaporates quickly, a new tension fills the air. I clear my throat and turn back to the fridge to hide my red cheeks.
"Are you hungry?" I ask with my head almost in the fridge. Internally, I scold myself for being so easily distracted.
"I could eat," comes Beau’s response, and the deep timber of his voice isn't lost on me, making it clear he's hungry for more than food.
Keeping my back to him I ask, "How's spaghetti sound?" I need to figure out what's happening between us. I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by his attention. I don’t know what to do with it or what I will do without it.
Thoughts of his departure start to run through my mind.
When will he comes to his senses and return to his previous life? I can't believe he'd just walk away from the fame and fortune. It won't take him long to realize that what he thought of as a burden is something he longs for again. What will I do when he leaves? I can feel myself falling for him. One minute I tell myself to take anything he's willing to give me, the next I want distance from the potential heartbreak. The closer he seems to get, the more confused I become.
"Sammy?" Beau asks from right behind me. I straighten, wondering how long I've been staring into the fridge.
I put a smile on my face and turn, "Sorry, lost in thought." I wash up and pull the ingredients I'll need. It serves as a nice distraction.
"What can I help with?" Beau asks, looking at the pile of vegetables I have on the counter. He seems genuinely interested, so I set him to grating carrots while I handle the garlic and onion. "I thought we were having spaghetti?" He asks, suspicious of the carrots.
"Bolognese, actually," He still looks a little hesitant, "it's good I promise." I turn to grab some basil.
Normally, I'd already be in my comfy clothes by now, and I’m itching to get out of my jeans and top. I get the sauce started and excuse myself to grab some yoga pants and a tee shirt from my dresser. There's no way I'm going into that bathroom unprepared again.
Noticing the items still on top of my bed, I grab everything to remove the tags and start a load of laundry. When I return a few minutes later Beau looks up and his eyes light when they travel from the tips of my purple toes up to my eyes.
"I love those pants," he sighs. "But I really love that you can look so sexy and comfortable at the same time."
He said the word love twice in about ten seconds. Do guys usually throw that word around? I like hearing it, even if it was only pertaining to my pants.
"Thanks, I guess," I utter and stare at him before remembering I need to finish the sauce and make a small batch of noodles. I quickly throw together a dough while Beau diligently stirs the sauce.
I'm letting the pasta dough rest for a few moments, when Beau asks, "Where'd you learn to cook?"
The water is almost at a boil, so I throw in a few heavy pinches of salt, "My momma mostly. She liked cooking. I've picked up a few new things over the years, but she's who taught me to love it." As I answer him, I can't help thinking of all the times my momma and I spent in her kitchen. After Darryl moved in, I didn't spend as much time with her. I was getting older and used my friends as an excuse but really I just hated sharing her.
I roll out small disks of pasta as thin as possible and grab my pizza roller to cut them into strips. The water is at a full boil, so I drop in the pile and use a large wooden fork to make sure they won't stick. In only a few minutes, the fresh pasta is beaching to the top of the water. It's almost ready. As I drain the water off, I add a little dried herbs and oil.
I ask Beau, "How about your family, what are they like?" He pulls the bowls I had set aside over to get ready for plating. I add the milk to the sauce, which also confuses him. I fill his bowl with noodles and spoon the bolognese over top, grabbing my bowl to do the same. I turn to him and ask, "Can you grab the parmigiana, please?"
He brings over the tub of grated cheese, and I sprinkle it on both dishes before handing him his, "Dig in." He still hasn't answered about his family, so I sit on the sofa with my legs folded under me. I'm surprised when he responds.
"My parents are great, they always supported me and still do actually. My mom was the one who convinced me to follow my heart," he grins with an eye roll. "Sounds cheesy, right?" He shrugs, "It’s the one thing she's always told me. It was hard to walk away from everything. I was going to take a sabbatical, I wanted out, but I was also chicken shit. After talking with her and dad, I knew. I knew I'd be okay no matter what I chose to do, so I left.” He swirls his fork around his pasta, a little unsuccessful in picking it up, “I tried to do it quietly but that's damn near impossible when you live in a fishbowl." He stabs a few bites of noodles and chews, "I had a few contracts to deal with, luckily the biggest one was with my agent. He knew I had him on fraud, and a few other not so nice things, so he let me go without a fight. Then it was just dealing with the whole Lauren situation." He looks down, lost in thought.
When a minute or two has past, I use my toe to nudge his leg, "So how is it?" I motion to his bowl, and he looks down like he'd forgotten it was there.
Beau mixes it a bit and shovels in another bit. He smiles, nodding as he chews and swallows. He remains quiet in between bites. He eats with gusto, but he's perfectly neat. The noodles are rolled onto his fork, and he dips back in to grab more sauce. I'm watching him eat, distracted by his obvious enjoyment of it. I barely eat myself, because watching him is so much more fulfilling. The simple act of sharing meals together has quickly become one of my favorite things we do together.
After his second heaping bowl, Beau sits back and groans, "You're going to ruin me. I'll never be able to eat my mom’s spaghetti again. That was delicious." He stretches his legs out.
I'm too content by his response. It makes me feel good that he enjoyed it so much. I move to stand, walking over to the kitchen to put our dishes in the sink. I go to spoon the leftovers into a container, but he beats me to it.
"I'll put this up. What should I put this stuff in?" He searches around in the kitchen, banging the cabinets, so I show him the containers where I stow the leftovers.
We sit on the sofa about to watch another episode of Top-Shot. He takes his shoes and socks off. I'm happy with the possibility he might stay over again, but I know he still doesn't have any fresh cloths.
"Beau?"
He looks down at me with a sleepy content look on his face. "Yeah, sweets?"
