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“I’m falling in love with you too,” I said, and she smiled so brightly, I thought her cheeks would crack.
“Really?”
“Really.” She kissed me and I pushed Wyatt aside. He didn’t get to have this. He didn’t get to have me, or my time, or my space. I wouldn’t let him ruin this.
* * *
The spaghetti was served laterthan intended, but it was absolutely worth the wait.
“Okay, I’m going to need this recipe,” I said as I shoved an entire meatball in my mouth. Her sauce was perfect, the meatballs were perfect, and the pasta was done just right. Esme Bell was a spaghetti savant.
“Thank you, thank you,” she said, taking a little bow.
She’d even made Stormy a tiny plate with one tiny meatball of her own.
Potato had come to sniff my plate but had been uninterested a moment later. All the more for me.
“I’m looking at taking a few days off next month and I was thinking maybe we could go somewhere,” Esme said. “How do you feel about road trips?”
“I feel awesome about road trips.” I also felt awesome about staying in hotels with massive beds and ordering room service.
“How about we each come up with some ideas and then we can present them and vote on it,” she suggested.
“Deal. But I’m going to win.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you really think so?”
I pointed my fork at her. “I know so.”
She just stuck her tongue out at me.
“That’s very mature behavior for a bartender.”
“At least I’m not puking into someone else’s beer glass while they’re in the bathroom,” she said. I almost gagged. There was no doubt that this was something that had definitely happened at least once.
“Please don’t tell me those kinds of stories when I’m eating,” I said. “Or I might be forced to take extreme measures.”
Her eyes went wide.
“What kind of extreme measures?” she said.
I narrowed my eyes. “You’ll find out.”
“Ohhhh, I’m scared,” she said.
Stormy put her head on Esme’s lap to beg for another meatball.
“No, my love, you can’t have another one.” This caused Stormy to start wailing dramatically, which made Potato get a case of the zoomies and start doing laps around the house.
“Maybe you should just give her a meatball,” I said over Stormy’s wailing.
Esme shook her head. “Give in to her tantrums and she’ll know that she can make a fuss and get her way.” That made sense. If I gave into every one of Potato’s whims, he would weigh so much more and probably have broken a lot more things.
“She’ll stop,” Esme said as Stormy continued to scream, looking over at us to judge our reactions.
“She’s really putting on a show,” Esme said. “I promise she’s not normally this bad.”
We finished our dinner with an unhappy dog, but said unhappy dog got distracted by the cat and we were able to eat our dessert in peace. Esme found a box of brownie mix that I didn’t remember buying and made those topped with ice cream and sprinkles.
