Page 56 of Love Unspoken

"I bicycle in all weather." She brought out small containers from the fridge and arranged them at the center of the oysters. They contained mignonette sauce, horseradish, and hot sauce. Then, she expertly chopped lemon wedges and set them around the oysters.

"Bon appétit." She spread her hands.

"Did you shuck these yourself?"

"Yes."

"You're a woman with many skills."

She smiled broadly at the compliment. Did no one say nice things to her? Who would? Darren? Sure. Not her brother or sister-in-law, and her father was dead. She must have other friends, or maybe not. Kara had snidely mentioned that she had no social life and could therefore babysit Magnus at short notice and whenever they needed it.

Naya was a superb cook, and I had one of the best Christmas Eve dinners of my life and I'd eaten Christmas dinner in Michelin-star restaurants. It was more than the food; it was the love with which she'd made it, the care she took to make my Christmas Eve as perfect as she could.

"Nolan and Daddy couldn't cook, so I had to learn," she told me when I asked how and who taught her to cook. "YouTube helped a lot."

No woman, I realized, had ever cooked for me. My mother wouldn't know which end of a spatula was up; same went for Ann. With other women I dated, we went to restaurants, or ordered takeout. I didn't cook either. There was something intensely cozy about sitting in her cute colorful apartment and eating a well-cooked meal.

We were on our third bottle of wine. We'd managed to consume her favorite Chenin, the bottle of champagne, and now we were working on the cab franc from Loire Valley. With every glass of wine, she loosened up. She was still Naya, just more so.

"May I ask you something?" I lifted my wine glass in a toast.

She touched her glass to mine. "Okay."

"How can I convince you to not look down, not look away when you're talking to me? How do I convince you that I'm never disgusted in any way about anything that's you?"

Her eyes immediately lowered.

"Fucking hell, Naya," I groaned.

"I'm sorry. I…don't like confrontations. This is my way of…running away."

I lifted her chin to look at me. "Stop running from me."

"You most of all," she whispered.

"Why?"

"Because…I'm embarrassed. You know I had a…crush…and…."

I leaned in and brushed my lips against hers. She gasped and pulled back.

"Hayes thinks that the reason Ann went after you was because she could see I was attracted to you. I thought about you a lot, and I thought it was…." I couldn't say irritation; that would hurt her, and it was not the truth to boot. I just didn't know what was inside me. I still didn't, not for certain. "I watched you, Naya, as much as you watched me."

"But you said⁠—"

"I know what I said. Can you forgive me for that?"

She looked at me now. "Why did you say it?"

"Because I'm an idiot?"

"Explain."

"I'm going to say some things now that won't sit right with you, and they don't with me either. But they're honest. I need you to not get upset and give me a chance to…ah…well, explain myself."

She folded her arms and leaned back on her chair. On anyone, it would be a sarcastic I'm waiting, asshole pose; in her case, it was an I'm afraid, so I'm holding myself together stance. I wish she'd let me hug her, but she was wound up too tight.

"I didn't think you were my type. So, I refused to admit that I noticed you or recognize that I wanted you, and," I put a finger on her lips so she would not speak, "that was because I'm a shallow motherfucker who has the self-awareness of a turnip. When Ann said she wanted us to get engaged, my first thought was: fuck no. So, for the first time in my life, I asked myself what exactly my type was."