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Chapter 8
IknockedonScott’sdoor at seven-fifteen, my heart racing in my chest. I felt awful about being late, but my mom was frantically trying to switch gears from bill analysis to picking Katy up, and I offered to help instead. I got her from the studio, dropped her off at home, then zoomed over to Scott’s as quickly as I could. My heart raced, not only from the adrenaline of the mad dash, but from the anticipation of seeing Scott and finally finding out what he wanted.
He opened the door with a wide smile on his face, and my breath caught as I took in the sight of him. He was put together as always, his suit perfectly tailored to his body, but he left off the tie and the top button of his shirt was undone.
“I was worried you weren’t going to come,” he said, taking me in for a hug. He must have added a little cologne, and the spicy smell was just enough to make me want to bury my nose in his neck. But I held myself back.
I pulled away and grinned back at him. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
He let me in the door and looked up and down appreciatively. Maybe I dressed up a little for him. Maybe I wore a cute pink dress and heels that showcased my dancer legs.
Maybe I was glad he noticed.
Ever the gentleman, Scott simply said, “You look stunning. Come sit.” He led me to the couch, where he had a glass of white wine waiting for me. He hiked up his suit pants so he could sit down. That gave me major Justin Timberlake vibes, and I was all for it.
How was he so relaxed? I couldn’t stop jiggling my legs, so I took a sip of wine and hoped it would calm my nerves.
“How has your day been?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Not the best.” I smiled at him over the top of my glass. “But I’m better now.”
He grinned. “Why did you have to go into the studio?”
I sighed and set my glass down on his coffee table. “Lisa asked me to help with Blake’s first rehearsal today. It was a disaster. She’s self-centered and unprepared. And she didn’t know I was coming. I kind of let Lisa have it afterwards.”
“Good for you. Is she going to pay you now?”
“Nope. She doesn’t even have enough money to pay a bookkeeper. I told her to raise tuition, which might backfire for my own family.” I looked down at my fingers, wondering if I was revealing too much now.
Noticing my pent-up nerves, Scott rested his hand on my arm, warmth spreading from his hand down to the tips of my fingers. My body stilled. “What do you mean?”
Did I want to tell him about the pressure my family was under? Something about Scott made me want to open up and be real, even if just for a little bit.
I sighed. “Things are . . . complicated. My parents are dealing with the aftermath of the accident. It’s causing a lot of financial stress.”
“Isn’t the insurance helping cover it?”
“Yes, to an extent. But a lot has been affected.” I started feeling a little sick to my stomach thinking about it all. I wanted tonight to be fun, so I changed the subject. “The food smells amazing. Where did you get it from?”
Scott cleared his throat. “I, uh, made it myself.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Excuse me? Mr. Bagel Bites and Top Ramen?”
“Those are delicacies,” he countered, pointing a finger at me. “I may have eaten a ton of those in my teenage years, but I’m trying to branch out. Marta has been giving me cooking lessons.”
I picked my wine back up and took a sip to process. Why would he suddenly be taking cooking lessons? Was he trying to . . . impress me?Don’t get your hopes up.“Your childhood nanny has been teaching you to cook?”
He smiled. “I thought it was time to learn new skills. She’s been coming over here once a week to give me cooking lessons.”
“What are we having?”
“Fettuccine Alfredo. I know you love pasta.” He winked at me and sipped his wine. Oh, boy. He knew the way to my heart—through my stomach.
He must have noticed me drooling, because he stood up suddenly and reached his hand for mine. “Let’s go eat. I bet you’re starving.”
I put my hand in his, heat erupting from our fingers. He gripped my hand and led me to the kitchen table. This was new, too. I tried to keep myself from hoping it meant that he wanted to be more than friends. Friends didn’t hold hands, right? Or invite each other over for romantic dinner dates? Or take cooking lessons to make the other person’s favorite dish?
Right?
