Salivating at the sight of lasagna.
Dude, don’t you dare invite her to stay for dinner.Dylan thought it was great when he had the backup of an inner voice full of reason, warnings, and sensibility.
“Of course it’s homemade. Would you like to stay for dinner? I can’t eat this all by myself anyway.”
But he, like a rebel, often did the exact opposite of what that inner voice suggested.
“I’d love to stay for dinner. To be honest, I haven’t had time to go the grocery store and, while the pantry is stocked with some essentials, I’ve had no energy to cook up a meal.”
Dylan strolled around the center island and pulled out a chair. “Have a seat. I’ll make our plates. Care for a glass of wine?”
That half-smirk he liked was accompanied by a vigorous nod as she hopped onto the stool and placed the papers she was holding on the counter. “I’d love some. Red?”
Dylan chuckled at her easygoing style. “Yep. Got a new bottle of Cabernet I was planning to open tonight.”
He plated both of them a serving of his specialty pasta, then poured two glasses of wine, before sliding onto the stool beside Chloe. “Eat. I hope you enjoy it.”
They ate in silence for a few bites, Dylan stealing glances of the beauty who grew more intriguing by the second. It had been months since he’d shared a meal with a woman. Six long ones, to be exact. Not that he was counting.
Chloe took another bite, closed her eyes as she chewed, then finally let out a soothing, “Mmmmm. So, so good. The tomato sauce, the flavor combination of the two meats, the cheese, which I think is a blend of ricotta and mascarpone, the herbs—this lasagna is like an Italian rave in my mouth.”
Dylan couldn’t help but chuckle. “An Italian rave in your mouth? You sound like you’ve been watching The Food Network.”
“I do, all of the time. Other than HGTV, it’s the only thing my brain can tolerate as background noise while I write. But really”—she paused, taking a sip of wine—“this meal is just what I needed. Do you always cook this good?”
Dylan lifted his glass, answering before he took a sip. “For me, sometimes preparing a meal is therapeutic. So I cook when it’s been a stressful day or when there’s a lot on my mind.”
Dylan had been cooking every single night for the past six months. Lasagna. Enchiladas. Burgers. Pizza. He even dabbled in Thai and Chinese cuisine. Cooking had become a hobby he adopted to keep himself grounded.
“Oh, I totally get it. The beach is my therapy. Which is why an ocean backdrop is imperative while I write. The sound of the waves crashing in the background, salt water permeating the air, the breeze. Therapy for at least four of my senses.”
“Then this setting is meant for you. The duplex, I mean.”
Chloe smiled, reaching for her glass. “Have you lived here long?”
“I purchased this place when I moved here from Boston.”
A set of raised eyebrows showcased curiosity. “Like, recently?”
Dylan wondered if she always asked so many questions. “Six months ago. Then after I bought it, I began renovating and managing it right away.”
“‘What about the coffee shop? Do you work there part-time? I saw you—”
“My sister and I are partners. We took it over from our aunt and uncle three years ago. I was more of a silent partner until I moved down here full-time.”
“Oh. Your sister? Is she the one who was working with you this morning?” Chloe took in her last bite of lasagna.
“Yep, Samantha, my smart-ass twin.” Dylan poured them both more wine and Chloe immediately lifted her glass for another sip.
“Twin?”
“Fraternal. Care for more food?” He dished himself another serving.
“I’m stuffed. But”—she hesitated for a second—“may I take a little home? I get mad midnight-snack cravings, especially when I’m facing a deadline.”
“Sure. I’ll pack you some to go along with those apple pie muffins you nearly broke my door down for.”
They both laughed, and Dylan became more intrigued by Chloe’s full-blown smile. Damn, she was hard not to look at. His brain gave up ordering his eyes to look away, since it was a losing battle. Clearing the dishes off the counter would be a smart distraction, so he began to do just that.
