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“It smells pretty rancid down there.”
“You should have smelled it before.” She laughed. “I owe you a new microwave. I’ll pay you back.” She didn’t know how or when, but she would.
“I like the idea of you owing me.” He slung one bag over his shoulder. “And buying me a microwave is not what I had in mind.”
Her stomach tingled. She bet she knew Jack’s idea of an IOU.
He left the closet without stopping and she admired his backside, his perfect shoulders and tight bottom. The way his jeans fit to perfection.
Just dinner?
She only hoped he kept his word. Bec
ause she knew, without a doubt, that if he touched her, just once, she wouldn’t be able to say no.
…
Jack dropped a handful of salt into the pot of boiling water and then emptied the package of linguine. The stuffed chicken and steak rested on a cutting board off to the side. The smell of garlic wafted from the pan below, where it mingled with pancetta, waiting for the pasta to bring them together.
He felt wonderful. Happy. Happier than he had been in a long time. The thought of Sterling somewhere in the house waiting for him to call her down for dinner warmed his body, warmed his heart.
But she was hesitant. And she needed…something. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he knew what he needed right now—Sterling laid out on this counter for him. His own personal feast.
He’d set their table, two place settings on the far side of the breakfast bar. Large dinner plate, small pasta bowl. Appropriate cutlery, water glass filled with sparkling water, and on the right, two wineglasses—one for red, the other for white. In the middle was a row of candlesticks, three sizes, shortest to tallest from left to right.
“It smells good in here.” She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, one hand resting on her hip, the other on the white frame. Her hair was tied up haphazardly on top of her head. Her sweater was gone and she now wore a form-fitting tank top over her linen pants.
“Thank you. I just need another five minutes.” He was only waiting for the pasta. He patted the far side of the counter where he’d arranged the two place settings.
“How did it go today?” he asked. “I noticed a lot of sticky things everywhere.”
“Yes. I need you to go through the house and review them, change them or whatever.”
She had a specific process—he liked that. It was sort of like cooking: you needed to season the meat before you cooked it.
“Next time I come I can actually start with the removal.”
Removal? It sounded so formal. How would he feel when all of the items that reminded him of his mother were gone?
He grabbed the white serving platter from the counter and placed it in front of her after she’d sat down. The platter was filled with stuffed chicken and peppercorn steak, asparagus, and cinnamon-braised pear.
“Is that all for us? There’s enough food to feed ten people.”
He turned off one of the burners. “I like leftovers.”
After scooping the pasta out of the boiling water, he tossed it in the pan with the garlic and pancetta. Once it was coated he removed the pan from the heat and poured in a mixture of egg and parmesan cheese. Mouth-watering carbonara. He slid the pasta into a serving bowl and finished it off with some fresh ground pepper and parsley.
“Mmm…” Sterling’s moan of delight did something to his insides. Made them jump and tighten—pulsate. “Pasta is my weakness. I could eat it every day for the rest of my life.”
He laughed. “Of all the things, you pick the easiest and the cheapest.”
“I’ve never really had the opportunity to eat many fancy things.”
If that was the case, he was going to have so much fun. “Well then, let me introduce you to a new world of culinary excellence.” Another platter emerged from the fridge. “I hope you like oysters. Shucking these babies took forever. It seems I’ve lost my touch.”
“Oysters?” Her face curled up in disgust.
He stilled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Have you ever had them?”
