Still, she grabbed the glass bottle and studied it.Quelques Fleurs Royale. Nanine had clearly inhaled too much gas from the stove before picking this scent for her. She’d claimed its velvety, alluring nature, paired with its strength and reputation, made it the perfect choice for Madison—an explanation that had made her feel poleaxed. She certainly didn’t feel velvety or alluring. Most of the time she felt more like the nickname Nanine had given her—Fifth Course. And cheese stank.
She paused, turning the girly glass bottle over in her hand, and squirted herself. Like she was using a water gun. “Shit. That was way too much.”
She cringed at the scent. God, now she was going to reek like some flower stall jacked up on steroids.
Throwing her arms up in the air, she waved the first assault away, hoping the perfume would lessen in intensity. Otherwise, Kyle’s olfactory senses were going to die a slow death.
After tugging on decent-looking black boots, she marched down the stairs. Another woman would have sauntered, knowing she was going to get shagged tonight if she wanted. Madison practically tripped down the stairs in her haste, the flickering candles making her worry about excessive perfume and her clothing’s flammability.
When she crossed into the kitchen, more panic fluttered in her stomach, practically dancing to the tune of the jazzy Latin music playing. Her utilitarian workspace had been transformed. It looked like a cozy dining space at the edge of a tropical beach. A simple round table was set for two, topped with more candles that cast shadows on a tasteful arrangement of bold-colored flowers. The perfect setting for a date…
“You didn’t want to eat in the dining room?” she asked through a dry throat before cursing. “Ah…I forgot my drink upstairs.”
She was halfway to the exit when he called, “No worries. We’ll pour another one.”
Nervous laughter tickled her dry mouth as she turned in a circle, like an airplane who’d missed the airstrip the first time. God, she was so bad at this stuff. “Great idea. So, you seem to have dinner covered. Did you raid the restaurant’s cooler too?”
He turned from pouring her a drink, looking like the kind of hot guy women would fight over onThe Bachelor. “Too?”
“Dean swung by. Jacqueline got stranded, so he took Pierre home for a slumber party to keep him company. Great timing, right? We won’t have to worry about him repeating our sex sounds or anything.”
He bit his lip, the way he always did when he was trying to keep from laughing—shedidsound like a lunatic—which only made her zero in on his sexy mouth. She wanted to bite it. Along with the rest of him.
“I was wondering where Pierre was, but I figured you’d tell me.” He handed her the drink and led her over to the table, pulling out her chair and making her feel totally weird. “You didn’t say if you were hungry.”
“I can eat.” She glanced around, sniffing, unable to detect any food scents given her perfume-saturated nose. “Did you cook?”
His smile bloomed. “In my fashion. You look beautiful, by the way.”
More nerves scratched at her throat. “You look good too. New suit?”
“Yes.” He wheeled over a covered serving cart she’d never seen before and arranged it across from her. “I thought I’d give you something special, something you might be missing, like speaking Spanish.”
When he lifted the aluminum cover, her mouth dropped open. Then her heart seemed to fall from her chest and land with asplaton the ground. “But…” She glanced over at him. “How…”
“Speechless is good.” He laughed nervously. “I was hoping some Cuban food from Little Havana might make you happy.”
She grabbed one of the pastelitos from the heaping mound next to the Cuban sandwiches and bit in. Guava and cheese hit her mouth and she moaned, closing her eyes. A feeling of pure joy shot through her, the kind she’d experienced when she used to eat them as a kid. How had he known?
God, of course he’d known. This was Kyle—and he knew her. Apparently down to the softdulce de lechecenter of her heart.
“Did my New Year’s cake tip you off?” she asked, grabbing another Cuban pastry, this one filled with pineapple.
He was leaning back in his chair swirling his drink, his face lit with candlelight and happiness. “You’ve mentioned missing things lately, and I understand. There are some days I’d kill for Texas BBQ.”
She grabbed another pastry and held it out. “I won’t ask how you did it but thank you. I can count how many days it’s been since I last had these. I was running to the airport worried about Nanine and waiting for my taxi to arrive. I dashed across the street to one of my favorite old haunts andordered a cafecito and a dozen pastelitos and a Cuban sandwich, which I ate on the plane ride over.”
They’d made her feel better, even when her world was falling apart. Food did that.
He leaned closer and took the pastry from her, those warm blue eyes doing weird things to her insides. “I didn’t know that. It’s like that meal was a bridge between your old life and the new life you were coming to here. Madison, I want to build more bridges. Between my past and yours and our lives now.”
She had to swallow her latest bite of pastry over the emotion knotting her throat. “You’re off to a great start. So, you somehow ordered up a feast from Little Havana…”
He waggled his brows playfully. “I did. I even have ice cream from the famous Azucar Ice Cream Company.”
“You do not!” She lurched out of her chair. “Where?”
He spurted out a laugh, rising slowly. “You don’t want to sample the rest of the food? I bought every side available. Rice and beans,maduros, tostones,boiled yuca with garlic sauce, avocado salad,boniato, malangapurée,tamal en casuela?—”
