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I hunch over my cutting board, focused on slicing the scallions as thin as Wai Po showed me. “I want the recipes to be in my hands too.”
He nods, quiet for a moment longer, then pushes off the wall and strolls down the hall, disappearing into his room.
For someone who’s been completely happy living on their own, I’m surprised at the clench of regret in my chest at his departure. Almost like I wish he’d stay here with me to keep me company.
Well then, maybe you should’ve let him help instead of snapping, a snide voice whispers in the back of my brain.
But before I can lay into myself further, Charlie reappears.
This time with a guitar.
“Do you mind if I mess around with this?” he asks, warm eyes meeting mine.
“Go for it.”
Charlie settles at the kitchen table, and while I carefully work through Wai Po’s recipe for scallion pancake beef rolls, he tunes his instrument.
Then my husband fills our house with music.
He plays covers. Acoustic versions of some pop, some rock, some R&B. Later, Charlie drifts into a familiar country tune, and I grin when I recognize his choice.
“That’s Violet’s,” I point out, as if he doesn’t already know.
Charlie raises his head, fingers still strumming as his cheerful smile entrances me. “Guess I’m not too rusty then. If you can tell what I’m playing.”
“You’re good.”
He shrugs. “I’m average.”
“Seriously?” I pretend to glare at him. “Do you think I would marry someone who is average?”
His mouth widens to a grin, showing off his gorgeous white choppers that lately have me thinking what it would be like if he bit me. Not too hard. Just a gentle press of his teeth on my—
Nope! Not having those thoughts about my husband.
“Okay,” Charlie says, jerking me out of my accidental lust spiral. “I’m above average. How’s that?”
“Better.” I turn back to my food prep, blaming my growing hunger on the errant thoughts about biting. “Do you have rock star dreams? Long to travel the world like your mom?”
“Nah.” The song shifts to a blues number I think I’ve heard Regina Keller perform on the radio. “Had enough of the transient lifestyle when I was a kid. Think I’d rather stay in one place for a while. At least long enough to call it home.”
Is that what New Orleans is for him? Home?
“Well, there are lots of music venues in this town. You could get a gig if you wanted.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him shake his head.
“I’d rather play for fun when the urge takes me. Don’t need to perform for anyone else.”
“This show isn’t for me? Stab me through the heart, why don’t you?”
Charlie whips his head up, but he must catch the humor in my eyes because he smirks.
“You’re right. I play for myself, and I play for my wife. The only opinions that matter.”
“Pig’s too.”
“Of course.” He smiles down at the pit bull. She finally accepts that the meat isn’t her treat, trotting over to settle by his feet.
