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“Dale…”
“What?”
“I do love you.”
How I yearn to return her vow. My lips part, and the words lodge in my throat.
I love you too, Ashley. I love you more than I ever thought I was capable of loving another person. I ache for you. Adore you. Would gladly stop a bullet for you.
But the confession stays locked inside me.
Instead of answering with words, I lower my head and press my lips to hers.
My body responds instantly, and I want to take her with a kiss so powerful she’ll never recover.
I hold back, though. If we’re going to do this for two months, I have time. I have time to explore her slowly, the way I’ve longed to. Slowly and sweetly. I pull back and meet her gaze.
“Tonight,” I say. “My place. We’ll have dinner.”
“And you won’t leave me again during the night?”
“No.” I trail my finger over her plump lower lip. “I won’t.”
I mean the words. I mean them with all my heart.
I just hope the darkness in my soul doesn’t force me to make them a lie.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ashley
After a shower and a change of clothes, I arrive at Dale’s place at six thirty on the nose. He opens the door, and the spicy scent of tomatoes and basil wafts toward me from the kitchen.
“You’re cooking?”
“Did you think dinner would make itself?”
“No, I… You told me you got your start with wine by cooking. I’m not sure why I’m surprised.”
“I still love to cook,” he says. “I just don’t have a lot of time for it. Plus, when it’s just me, it seems a waste to go to all the trouble.”
I nod. “I’m honored you’re going to the trouble for me.”
“It’s not trouble.”
“You just said—”
“I know what I just said.” He sighs. “I never say the right thing, Ashley. If you want to be with me, you should probably just expect that.”
His tone is so…resigned. Am I forcing him into this? He should sound happy, not resigned. Even the color of his voice is different. It’s more of a Pinot Noir instead of the dark burgundy of Syrah.
This isn’t the Dale I want. I want the passionate Dale. The angry Dale. The Dale I fell in love with.
He’s in there—hiding inside that beautiful body. I’ll just have to coax him out.
“Can I help?” I ask.
“Can you toss a salad?”
I chuckle. “I think I’ve done it once or twice.”
He nods to the bowl of greens on the counter. “Have at it. Homemade vinaigrette is in the fridge.”
I whisk past Dale, our bodies touching slightly, and a wave of desire pokes at me. Dinner, first. Dinner and conversation. Maybe I’ll get to know him a little better.
Then later…
I’m so ready, I’m about to burst into bloom.
The cool air from the refrigerator does little to take the edge off my aching loins. I grab the bottle of vinaigrette and get back to the task at hand.
“How much dressing do you like?” I ask. “Light, medium, or heavy?”
“However you like it is fine.”
“I prefer medium.” I pour on some of the vinaigrette and toss the salad. “Smells great. What are we having?”
“Linguine frutti di mare,” he says. “I thought you might be missing seafood.”
And oh my God, I love him even more.
“I hope you don’t mind seafood with a red sauce,” he says.
“Not at all.”
“Sometimes I make it with a garlic and white wine sauce, but I prefer my basil marinara.”
I inhale. “It smells amazing.”
“The secret is the tiniest pinch of caraway along with basil, thyme, and garlic.”
“No oregano?”
“Not in this version. Oregano is too harsh. It overwhelms the seafood.” He pauses a moment. “Did I just divulge my secret ingredient to you?”
I chuckle. “The caraway?”
“Shit.” He shakes his head. “I’m not sure I’ve even let Aunt Marj in on that secret.”
“How did you discover it?”
“What the hell?” he says. “In for a penny, in for a pound. Aunt Marj uses a pinch of anise in one of her red sauces, which I like, but I always felt it was just a bit too much. I did some research and tried caraway, and it gives it the same tang, only without the touch of licorice.”
“Interesting.”
“Do you cook?”
“A little. I’m pretty good with most seafood. I’ve perfected cooking cod without drying it out.”
“That’s a tough one. As you can imagine, I don’t cook a lot of fish. So maybe you’ll prepare your cod for me sometime.”
Happiness explodes inside me. He means it. He really means it. We’re going to try this for the rest of my internship.
And maybe…just maybe…he’ll want to keep going.
But I can’t push. Jade’s warning is forever engraved in my mind. If I push him too hard, he may shrink back from me forever.
“I’d love to cook for you sometime,” I say. “But I don’t have a kitchen at my disposal.”
“You’ll cook here, of course.” He stirs the sauce.
