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I smile. “All right. That will be fun. Though I’m wondering if I can get fresh cod here in Snow Creek.”
“Hmm,” he says. “Probably not. So we’ll go to Aspen. Fresh fish is flown in daily.”
“Aspen?”
“Yeah, you’ve heard of it, right?”
“Of course. But it’s so—” I stop myself. Affluent was the word that came to mind. Aspen, where all the Hollywood celebs go when they want to get out of LA. So of course they go to mini LA in the Rockies.
“So what?”
“Nothing. I was thinking it’s expensive.”
“Ah… My privilege again. The Steel family has several properties in Aspen, each with a full kitchen. I thought you could cook for me there. Unless it’s too privileged for you.”
“No,” I say.
“You don’t want to go to Aspen?”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, no, it’s not too privileged for me.” I shake my head. “This isn’t going the way I want it to at all.”
“Face it, Ashley. We come from two different worlds. I don’t think that’s a problem, but you seem to.”
I shake my head again. “I don’t. I don’t at all. But Dale, this is so different from what I’m used to. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love that you want to share your place in Aspen with me. I love that you want me to cook for you. I just… This is all so new to me, and I guess I’m having a hard time processing it.”
To my utter surprise, he turns away from his cooktop and touches my arm. Sparks shoot through me.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I understand.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Dale
Even I’m surprised at my reaction.
But I do understand.
I was only ten when I came to the ranch, and it was difficult to comprehend its magnitude at first. Difficult to comprehend just how rich my new family was.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
“I said I’d try this, Ashley. I’m bound to stumble a few times. More than a few times, to be honest. I’ve never…”
“Never what?”
“Done this before.”
She wrinkles her forehead. “But you said you were in love once.”
I frown and look back at my sauce. Yes, I said that. I was talking about her.
She presses, “If you were in love, didn’t you have a relationship? Go on dates? All that stuff?”
I clear my throat. “Maybe my love was unrequited.”
She huffs. “I can’t believe that.”
I turn the heat down to low on the sauce and go to the refrigerator. “You were right. Fresh seafood isn’t readily available in this small town, but I managed to find some frozen sea scallops and large prawns. That will be our frutti di mare.”
“Sounds delicious. Most frutti di mare includes squid, which I personally find kind of rubbery. But Dale…”
I turn to face her. “I said I’d try this, okay? I want to. But you can’t pepper me with questions all the time. Yes, I’ve been in love once. That’s all I’m going to say for the moment.”
She nods, her lips trembling slightly.
I expect her to fight me. To continue her interrogation.
But she stays quiet for a few minutes. I sauté the scallops and prawns in olive oil and garlic until they’re cooked through—only about ten minutes. Overcooking will ruin them and make them rubbery, which Ashley apparently doesn’t like. I actually agree with her on the squid, though I like the flavor.
I turn to the next burner to check on the linguine. It’s perfectly al dente, so I turn down the heat and then pour it through the colander sitting in the sink.
I plate the linguine quickly, topping each with a generous portion of the sautéed scallops and prawns and then a half cup of marinara. I garnish with a few fresh basil leaves.
A loaf of Ava’s fresh Italian bread already sits on the table, along with a bottle of Italian Barbera d’Alba.
“Have a seat,” I tell Ashley.
She complies, and I slide a plate of food in front of her.
“Smells heavenly.” She gestures toward the wine. “No Steel wine tonight?”
“I thought you might appreciate something different. We do make a great Italian blend, but there’s nothing quite like a Barbera d’Alba with tomato-based foods.”
“I agree.”
Not that I expected her to disagree. I’m right. I uncorked the bottle earlier to let it breathe. I pour a tasting portion into her goblet. “What do you think?”
She swirls it in her glass and smiles. “Is this a test?”
“Of course not. But I’m interested in your opinion.”
She sinks her nose into the glass. “Mmm. Dark cherry, violet, and”—she sniffs again—“our previous conversation about caraway and anise notwithstanding, I’m getting a touch of licorice.” She takes a sip and holds it in her mouth a few seconds before swallowing. “Not very tannic but a lovely acidity. I’m getting mostly the dark cherries again, with a little lavender and violet on the finish.”
I nod.
“How’d I do?” she asks.
