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“I told you. It wasn’t a test.”
“I know, but your opinion means a lot to me.”
“Okay.” I fill her glass and then my own. Then I take a taste. She’s right on target. I’m getting everything she said. I swallow. “I agree with you. The only thing I’ll add is a little vanilla on the finish. In fact…” I take another taste. “Make that bourbon vanilla.”
She takes another sip. “Yeah, it’s subtle, but it’s definitely there. I can’t believe I missed that.”
“I’ve been tasting wine a lot longer than you have. You may have the education, but there’s no substitute for actual experience.”
Oddly, she doesn’t argue the point. In fact, she nods.
“You’re right,” she says. “I’ve learned a ton at school, but it’s mostly theory. Sure, we’ve done some tastings in lab settings, but the real world is different.”
She doesn’t even know the truth she speaks. My real world—which she sees as one of riches and privilege—holds secrets I may never release.
I wash the thought from my mind. I made a promise to Ashley and a promise to myself. I’ll be with her during this internship. For two more months. I’ll hide the beast inside me as best I can. To be with her. To have her. To let my heart feel what it wants to feel.
If I start thinking about the dark secrets I hide, I won’t get very far with those promises.
I gesture toward her plate. “Dig in. I want to know what a coastal girl thinks of my attempt at seafood.”
“I already know I’ll love it.” She twirls linguine on her fork and then spears a piece of scallop before bringing the utensil to her mouth. Her eyes widen as she chews and swallows. “It’s wonderful. I’ve never tasted anything like it.”
My cheeks warm. I know I’m a great cook. Aunt Marj has sung my praises for years, and she’s a better chef than those in most of the finest restaurants. But to hear the praise from Ashley’s pink lips means more to me than my aunt’s most formidable compliment.
My lips nudge. I want to smile. Why am I holding back? I feel good, so I should smile. After all, I made that promise to Ashley and to myself. Yes, I need to hold back on emotion, but this is just a smile. What can it hurt?
I let my muscles go as she takes another bite, and her eyes widen once more.
She swallows. “Wow.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I do. It’s delicious. But the ‘wow’ was for that gorgeous smile on your face. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you smile like that.”
I know she hasn’t.
“You should smile more often,” she goes on.
“I’m just glad you like the dish.”
She returns my smile with her own dazzling one. Unlike me, Ashley smiles a lot, and every time it’s better than the last. Her whole face lights up, and my heart wants to leap out of my chest.
“Are you going to eat?” she asks.
My plate sits in front of me, the food still untouched. I’ve been entranced by her smile. I pick up my fork and swirl pasta onto it. “I’ve eaten this at least a hundred times.”
“But never with me.” She smiles again.
True words. I bring my fork to my mouth and savor the goodness of the linguine frutti di mare. The flavors dance on my tongue.
And damn, it’s never tasted better.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ashley
Dale doesn’t talk much more as we finish the pasta, but that’s okay. I’m used to him being quiet. All I care about is that he’s here, I’m here, and we’re going to be together for the rest of my time in Colorado.
It’s not forever, but it’s a start.
And in the end, if three months are all I have of Dale Steel, it will be enough. One day with this man is better than a century with any other.
What if I don’t want to let him go at the end?
I brush off the thought and secure it in the Scarlett O’Hara file in the back of my mind. I’ll think about that tomorrow. More likely, in two months.
Dale refreshes our wineglasses and gestures to my empty plate. “Would you like some more?”
“Maybe just a little.”
He takes my plate and refills it with a half portion, his own with a full. Then he replenishes our salad bowls as well. These Steel boys all love to eat. They work so hard they can probably put away four thousand or more calories a day. I’m going to have to watch it while I’m here. Very easy to overeat all this delicious food.
When we finish our second helpings, Dale clears the table. “I didn’t have time to make dessert,” he says. “But I have some homemade brown sugar vanilla ice cream that Aunt Marj made.”
“Sounds great. I’d like to finish my wine first.”
