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He holds me tenderly and I want desperately to just be satisfied with that but I can’t silence the voice in my head that wonders exactly what he was doing while I was gone.
“Where did you run off to?” I ask, doing my best to keep my voice casual.
“Just hanging out with a friend,” he says, “a little north of the city.”
He’s not lying but he’s not telling me the whole truth. I can tell, and maybe for the first time in my life, I hate that I can tell.
God, I really hate that I can tell.
I mean, there aren’t a lot of things I can come up with that I hate more than how much I hate that I can tell Rory isn’t telling me the whole truth. I feel like… I dismiss the thought that almost forms in my head. I can’t even deal with the possibility.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he says.
It’s only then that I realize the aroma in the house. “Wow. What is that?”
“That, my dear,” he says, “is lamb done the right way.”
I giggle and feel kind of silly for giggling. At least I manage to speak without too much laughter in my voice. “What’s the right way?”
“The Italian way.”
“Are you Italian?” I ask. This time a little bit of laughter comes through.
“Not a drop of Italian blood,” he replies. He flashes me a smile as he puts his key in the door and opens it. “But who doesn’t appreciate a culture where sharing secret family recipes is usually a bigger transgression than cheating on your wife?”
I laugh at loud at that one as he gestures to the dining room. “Maybe the wives with all the cheating husbands,” I reply.
“Who do you think keeps the recipes secret?” he asks. I laugh again and he pulls a chair out for me. When he takes a few steps to the kitchen I think about what he’s hiding. I hate that my first thought is that I can use our relationship to figure things out with Company 417. I hate even more that the very idea hurts me tremendously. The thought I forced from my mind returns.
I’m falling for this man.
I’m falling for this man and I’m falling hard.
So, for what might be the first time in my life, I force thoughts of work out of my head instead of thoughts of romance. Rory returns with plates and silverware. He sets them down and then walks back to the kitchen. When he returns again, he has two wine glasses and a bottle of wine. He produces a corkscrew and soon my glass is full.
A few minutes later, there is a roasting pan on the table with what must be the most appetizing looking roast I’ve ever seen. He spoons roasted potatoes and vegetables onto my plate and then carves off some slices of lamb. “I’ve only had lamb once before,” I say.
“And you didn’t like it,” he says.
“What makes you say that?” I ask even though he’s right.
“Because you only had it once,” he replies. I laugh at that and he says, “and I can also tell you that it wasn’t cooked right.”
“And how can you tell me that?” I ask.
“Because you didn’t like it.”
I laugh and say, “This is all circular reasoning.”
“Not really.”
“So how do you know yours is cooked right?”
He sits down and says, “Because it’s an Italian recipe.”
I laugh at that and shake my head. “No way. You said nobody shares those recipes. How did you get it?”
He shrugs and says, “From one of the cheating husbands.”
