Even though Min had spent the night there the night before, he could tell she was nervous. She kept looking away from him, pulling on her fingers, fidgeting with the hem of her cardigan, making herself smaller. He resolved then and there to make sure she never felt the need to make herself smaller again.
“Wine?” he asked over his shoulder as he led her into the kitchen.
He wore dark, fitted jeans, and a dark blue button-down, the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled to his elbows, the bottom half of his tattoo visible. Her eyes were always drawn to the ink on his skin and he hadn’t been able to keep himself from displaying it, like a promise that he would bare the rest of himself later.
Min took a seat at the breakfast bar as he poured them each a glass of wine. He waited just long enough for her to swallow before he kissed her again, his free hand tilting her chin up to his face. It was a gentle kiss, one that said they had all the time in the world, but the way she moved her tongue across his lips as he pulled away promised it would be worth the wait. He would never get over how good it felt to kiss her.
He returned to stirring the pot on the stove. “It will just be another minute,” he said over his shoulder. “Tell me about what you’ve been reading?”
“How do you know I’m reading anything?” she asked.
He shot her an ‘oh please’ look, his eyebrow arched. She laughed, a delicious lilting sound that warmed him.Christ, I could get used to this.He stirred the risotto and reminded himself to slow down – he knew how to wine and dine a woman, how to charm her and bed her – and he knew it always ended. He swallowed hard and stirred the grains of rice more aggressively.Why does that thought sting so much?
“Okay, fair,” Min said, oblivious to the contradictions racing through his head. “Bel Cantoby –”
“Ann Patchett,” he said, nodding. “I read it last year. Did you know Patchett imagined Renée Fleming’s voice for the opera singer?”
“I didn’t, but that’s who I hear in my head, too.”
“Tell me when you’ve finished it. I don’t want to spoil it for you.”
Min nodded and took the opportunity to look around his kitchen. The room was immaculate, all stainless steel and granite counters, black cabinetry and wide plank hardwood floors. It could have been straight out of an HGTV home reno show.
His fridge was covered in small magnets shaped like instruments. She ran her hand over each one in turn. Beneath the cello magnet was the cast photo from last year’s opera production, Min on the far edge of the photo, Bobby’s arm around her waist. He hated that Bobby was anywhere near her in the photo, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to take the image down – her smile was too breathtaking in it.
Next to it, under the grand piano magnet was a faded photograph of his mother on her wedding day in a simple tea-length white dress and holding a bouquet of roses to her nose. “Is this your mother?” she asked.
He paused his stirring. “It is. Leonora.”
“She’s beautiful.”
Next was Sophie, his late chocolate lab, looked up from beneath a harp magnet.
Held up on two corners by the trumpet and the French horn, was a photograph of the company bow from Italy. Liam stood beside her in the photo, holding her hand above his head. His hand tingled, remembering the way he’d run his thumb across her palm during that bow.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” she said, tearing her eyes away from the photos and focusing back on Liam.
He laughed and said with a wink, “All good European men cook. My mother taught me,” he gestured to the photo on the refrigerator. “She used to bake pastries for the restaurant down the street when I was a boy, but she loved Italian food. So that’s what I learned to make. It made her happy.” He shrugged and removed the pot from the heat.
“She sounds wonderful.”
“She was,” he said with a tight smile, the loss cutting through him all over again.
“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step closer to him and grasping her hands as if she was keeping herself back from touching him.Someday, she won’t hold back,he told himself.
“It was a long time ago,” he replied. “But thank you.”
“It smells incredible,” she offered, giving him a chance to change the subject. She always seemed to know when he needed a minute to back away from the more painful parts of his heart.
“Risotto Milanese,” he said, removing the lid of a second pan and taking that off the heat as well. “And scallops.”
Min grinned. “I love scallops.”
He beamed and his chest puffed out with pride. “Like a true New Englander,” he said. “I remember.” Min blushed. He remembered every word she’d ever spoken to him. She had been known to wax nostalgic about the fresh seafood in her hometown. More than once she had lamented the lack of decent lobster rolls near campus. “Do you cook?” he asked as he started to plate their dinners.
“I dabble,” she replied. “I can follow pretty much any recipe, but I can’t really freestyle.”
“That comes with practice.”
