Page 91 of A Really Bad Idea

I open the door.

I must have a confused expression on my face because he lifts a plastic bag in his hand and explains, “Thought you could use the company.”

He has the bag in one hand and a leather satchel in the other. He walks past me and into the kitchen, and I close the door behind him in wonder. The satchel is now on the floor by the couch, and he’s rummaging through the contents of the plastic bag at the kitchen counter.

“I have steak au poivre for you. Chicken saltimbocca for me. I’ll steal your carrots, and you can have my potatoes.” He opens the cabinets and takes out dishes. Gone is the suit from before. He’s wearing jeans and a thin crew neck shirt.

I watch as he sets the dining table for two, right down to the placemats he knows I keep in the side credenza.

When he plates our dinners, I ask, “How do you know I haven’t eaten?”

He looks up with a grin, not stopping what he’s doing. “Have you?”

“No.”

“I know,” he says with a smug shrug. “And, since I know you had Sunday sauce at your brother’s, I figured you wouldn’t want to eat the lasagna. Just don’t tell your mother I’m feeding you this late at night.” He winks.

I shake my head with a light laugh as I grab a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator. Since he has surgery tomorrow, he won’t drink alcohol tonight. In fact, I’m astonished he’s doing anything tonight.

“I’m surprised you came out of your cave this late when you have surgery in the morning.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he holds out a seat for me. I put the pitcher on the table and take the offered seat, looking down at my plate that’s a mishmash of the two dinners he ordered for us.

“You know what I realized I don’t know about you?” He takes his seat and grabs his fork. “Your favorite flower.”

He pops in a carrot, and I quirk a brow at him.

“Makes sense why you jumped from sunflowers to roses. Quite the juxtaposition.” I pour iced tea in our glasses. “Are flowers the only thing you think you don’t know about me?”

He finishes chewing and weighs this over for a moment. When he swallows, he looks straight at me and recounts, “You use way too much creamer in your coffee; there’s always a jar of peanut butter in your cabinet, and you don’t share because it’s for your dipping spoon only; you have an affinity for scented hand soap; and you have a unique excitement over filing our forms.” There’s a short pause as he looks up, thinking, and then adds, “And you’re afraid of turtles.”

“They’re slimy, and the way their heads poke out of the shell is creepy.”

“You’ll eat anything with bananas, even sushi, and if I were to ask you out for a karaoke night, you’d fight me for the microphone.”

“‘Shoop’ is the best song ever,” I declare with a pointed fork.

“I also know you keep photos in your nightstand that you refuse to part with because they’re part of your history.” He’s not saying this like it’s a bad thing. He’s just observing.

I swallow my bite. “I didn’t know anyone knew about those.”

His eyes look at me, disarming, as a tender, compassionate grin gleams along his face. “I like that you have them. You love hard, and feel deeply. You also hide away. You might not like turtles, but you’re just like one. Turtles can’t let anyone in.”

“So, now, I’m a turtle?”

He looks down and smiles sweetly. Then, he looks up at me through his long lashes and speaks as if he has a secret and is letting me in on it, “Hard on the outside, super soft on the inside. It’s okay. Every turtle has to come out of its shell every once in a while. I just wait until you’re ready.”

There’s a truth to his words, and they hit me in the chest with a force that takes my breath away. It’s beyond belief when someone can describe you better than you can explain yourself.

“Daisies,” I say as I look down and cut my chicken. “My favorite flower is the daisy.”

“Good to know.” He grins.

“So, there we were, standing on the roof, in nothing but our bathing suits, flippers, and scuba masks, locked out in the dead of March.”

“How did you get back inside?” Christian hands me a dish.

After dinner, we popped open the tub of chocolate chip cookie dough and split a mug full of it. He’s now washing the dishes with my new faucet while I dry.