Page 23 of Emil

He directed me to a spot off to the side to take off my shoes, which I did, lining them up neatly next to his before obediently following him to the kitchen.

It was a big, open space with clean lines and a wall of windows overlooking the ocean. In the distance, I could see the lights from the city across the water. The view was breathtaking. I stared, completely enthralled by what I was looking at.

“Now you see why I bought this place,” Emil said.

I knew he didn’t mean to do it, but it felt like he was speaking directly into my ear. He was standing so close behind me. It was a little disconcerting to have someone my own height and close to my size near me. Usually, I felt like a bull in a china shop, clunking around people who were generally much smaller than me.

“How do you get anything done? I would just stand over here all the time.”

“And now you know why I put the secondary office somewhere that wasn’t in the house,” Emil said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I do stand here and look at the view and get nothing done.” He moved back toward the kitchen and added, “But I am going to finish dinner for us.”

“Let me help you,” I said.

“Don’t be silly. Have a seat. You’re a guest.” I knew he was trying to be a generous host, but the idea of just sitting around twiddling my thumbs sounded like the ninth circle of hell.

“Thanks,” I said weakly. If it took sitting on my hands, I was going to do it. “Whatever you’re cooking smells good.”

“Let’s hope it tastes good too,” he answered with a laugh. I’d spent too much time making sure my outfit was appropriate, and he was in a long-sleeved college T-shirt and gray sweats. “It’s grilled salmon, fingerling potatoes, and salad.”

“Wow, that’s pretty amazing for a whipped-together meal.”

“Thanks. I like to putter around in the kitchen. What about you?” He glanced at me from where he was whisking ingredients for some kind of vinaigrette.

Emil had splashed some olive oil on the counter, and it was perilously close to his sleeve. The oil would likely stain his shirt. I slipped off the stool he’d directed me to and grabbed a paper towel to wipe the counter.

“I don’t really like to cook for myself.” While I was there, I moved the ingredients closer to him so he wouldn’t have to keep going back and forth.

“Thank you, Anders. That’s helpful.” Satisfaction settled in my chest. I was helpful and useful and…nope, gonna need to shut that down.

“May I set the table?”

Emil gave me a look that I didn’t know how to clock.

“Of course. The dishes are over there.” He nodded in the direction of some built-in cupboards. “Pick the ones you like.”

I gave him an odd look, but when I opened the doors, I understood. There were a few different sets, including some chargers, cloth napkins, and whatnot.

“You must entertain a lot.”

“Or I have a sister obsessed with home décor, but who doesn’t have space in her minimalist apartment. She puts all of her urges into my house and keeps hers clutter-free.” He paused to laugh and added, “I’ll never admit it to her because I like giving her a hard time, but I do like a pretty table.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. I’ll never tell.”

I checked the plates, pulled the chargers, found the best napkin pattern, and brought them all to the table. In the process of looking for napkins, I found some candle holders and beeswax candles. They were short and squat, which made them not romantic, so I added them to the table as well. I’d just put on the final touches when Emil came to stand next to me at the table.

“Is it all right?” I hated how unsure I sounded. In a perfect world, I’d be sure and confident. But tonight I needed the reassurance, and I wanted it from him.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you for putting it together.” I tried to hide my happiness at his praise, but it was hard to keep my smile from showing. His approving tone settled over me like a weighted blanket.

“And here’s our dinner,” Emil said as he set it in front of us.

He’d managed to carry the platter of grilled fish, the bowl of potatoes, and the bowl of salad. I jumped up from my chair to grab the vinaigrette he’d left behind on the counter and brought that to the table, along with the basket of bread he hadn’t been able to carry. I set them down, and the intrusive thoughts rattling around in my brain became too loud to ignore.

“May I serve your dinner?”

The look Emil gave me was searching, and I was sure he was going to tell me no.

“Yes, go ahead. Thank you.”