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“It’s just you and me left in the apartments,” Darby said. “And our frozen pizzas.”
“Right? I love to cook, but it’s no fun to do for just myself. Everyone keeps telling me that it’s important to learn to enjoy your own company or whatever, but I think I’ve proven myself long enough.”
“I love to eat. You know, if you ever want company.” Again with that adorable grin of his. How did a man possess both sexiness and boyishness at the same?
“Well, if you’re around tonight after finishing the proposal, you could pop over. I mean, we live in the same building. There’s no reason we can’t enjoy a meal together every once in a while, right?”
He nodded, holding my gaze. “I can’t think of any reasons.”
My pulse raced. A shiver of desire traveled up my spine. This was dangerous. I knew it but for some reason, I couldn’t find it in myself to care. “What do you like to eat?”
“Anything. My father was a terrible cook, so I eat whatever anyone gives me.”
“Your father?” He’d never mentioned any family.
“My mother was a terrible cook too. That’s why I had to learn how,” I said. “Or I wanted to learn, anyway. My father was never home, so I made whatever my mom or brother wanted. It was a way for me to show them I loved them.” I flushed, hot in the warmth of the autumn afternoon. “Why am I still talking?”
“I like it when you talk,” Darby said. “Sometimes I’ve worried you clam up when I’m around.”
I looked at my feet, noticing that my toenails were in need of a good polish. Had I shaved my legs?Who cares, you moron, I said to myself.You’re not rubbing them on anyone anytime soon.“I was embarrassed to be around you after what happened, but you’ve always been so nice that it’s silly.”
“Yeah, me too. I couldn’t believe we ended up in the same place. What are the odds?”
“I’ve no idea. I was an English major, not a math major.”
He chuckled, and the shallow dimples on either side of his mouth appeared. “Well, let’s not be awkward any longer. We’re friends who need to stick together now that everyone seems to have abandoned us.” An edge to his voice made me curious. There was weight to the wordabandoned. I understood that only too well.
“Right.” I smiled back at him. “I could make pasta and my homemade sauce. Do you like meat or vegetarian Bolognese?”
“Again, whatever you make, I’ll gladly eat.” He looked down at the grass for a second before lifting his gaze back to mine. How had we gotten so close together? I could smell his aftershave and see the beginning of a five o’clock shadow on his chin.
“You want me to bring wine?” Darby asked.
“Make it a red?” I should not be this pleased at his suggestion, I thought, but there it was.
“You got it.”
We agreed on seven for dinner and then he was off, striding across the lawn on those sexy legs of his.
* * *
By seven that evening,my Bolognese sauce was simmering happily and filling my small apartment with the scent of tomatoes, garlic, and oregano. I preferred if it cooked all day, but since I hadn’t had much time, a few hours would have to do.
I’d changed from my black slacks and white shirt into a pair of soft, loose jeans and a light sweater despite the warmth of the afternoon. The temperatures dropped swiftly this time of year. As soon as the sun went down, a chill slid into the air.
My apartment, always neat and tidy, especially now that I was rarely here, had needed a quick vacuum, which I’d done after I had the sauce on the stove.
My windows faced the northern mountain. I was high enough that I could see over the other buildings in town to the ski runs and lodge. Below us, The Sugar Queen, Brandi’s bakery, lent scents of freshly baked bread and sweets starting at 4:00 a.m. I often woke to smells that made my stomach growl.
I’d decorated the apartment with help from my brother. He often had rejected furniture or accessories from his ridiculously wealthy clients and had saved me some choice pieces, including a brown leather couch and two sky-blue chairs. My hardwood floor was covered with a tan-and-blue rug. Books and a few choice pieces of pottery decorated hanging shelves. All in all, I’d created a cozy dwelling for myself. What it lacked in space, brick walls and high ceilings compensated nicely.
A knock on my door came at a few minutes after seven. I opened it to see Darby standing there, smelling way too good. His hair was damp from a shower, and I felt certain he’d shaved. For some reason, this touched me. He was an older-model-type guy from another era, this Darby Devillier.
He had a file tucked under his arm and a bottle of red wine in the other. “I hope you like Spanish wine,” he said.
“Sure. You can get some wonderful Spanish wines for a bargain sometimes.”
“Agreed.”
