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Since that thought was a touch heavy for this homey scene, she decided to lighten the mood. “You know if you’d have cooked like this more often...”
“Don’t say it,” he warned, pointing at her with the wooden spoon before giving his pasta another swirl.
“I was going to say I’d be a lot fatter.”
“That is not what you were going to say.” Sliding her a glance, his mouth hitched into a half smile, he set the spoon aside. He grabbed an open bottle of red wine and the empty glass next to his half-full one, and sloshed in a few inches of wine before handing it to her. “Unless you’d rather chug it out of the bottle.”
“Us being apart certainly didn’t make you any funnier.”
He grinned—full out—and she thought to herself that while he hadn’t become funnier, he’d somehow become sexier. She eyed his backside as she sipped the fruity, deep-colored wine, recognizing it the moment the flavors burst onto her tongue.
“Is this—”
“One and the same. I wasn’t going to, but then I remembered that whenever I made pasta we had this vintage.”
The same wine they’d drunk on their anniversary, and their favorite from their trip to wine country that first Christmas they’d spent together. She hadn’t had it in too long, fearing bad memories. But here they were, and the wine was delicious, her ex-husband was in her house shaking his great ass, and she didn’t have any bad memories. Only good ones.
She’d been overthinking the night he’d delivered her champagne. She should have leaned in and kissed him—even if they’d ended up in bed together, it would have been better than soaking in the tub by herself, wishing he was there.
Regardless of the consequences.
It wasn’t as if they’d end up accidentally remarried. They each knew the score. Their marriage didn’t work because of their needs to guard their own space. They couldn’t be together while also being apart.
She’d loved him, but that hadn’t made them bulletproof. Admiration, friendship and sexual compatibility was one thing. Wedded bliss? Another altogether.
He lifted a noodle from the pot with a pair of tongs and gingerly ate it. Nodding, he lifted his eyebrows before slurping the rest of the noodle down and Gia pressed her thighs together. Soooo. Sexy.
“Done,” he announced with a nod.
“I’ll go change.”
“Why? You look great.”
She supposed her dark blue skirt and red-striped tank and flats were suitable for a dinner at home, but she wanted to honor his efforts by stepping it up.
“I just want to. You’re dressed up.” she told him.
“Am I?” He glanced down at his charcoal gray pants and short-sleeved gray utility shirt—the one she’d always liked, with the black buttons.
“Give me five minutes.”
“Okay.” He held her eyes for a prolonged beat. His gaze was a touch daring, more playful than aloof, almost... tender. Open.
Shutting out thoughts about how she wished he would have been this open and irresistible when they were married, she climbed the stairs to change for her dinner date.
