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Pete made an eek face. “Geez, no pressure on my jar sauce and store-bought meatballs.”
I laughed. “The alternative is a protein bar. Trust me; no complaints from me. I will enjoy every store-bought bite.”
“I suppose your nonna or mom taught you to cook Italian?”
“A thing or two, but I don’t get to cook often.” More like I didn’t take the time. Cooking for one blew. The dishes tasted great the first day, but eating the same thing for a week wasn’t my jam. But now, if I had someone to cook for, someone like Pete, I’d be breaking out my sauce making skills.
Four
Pete
Cavatappi noodles with jarred vodka sauce, baked meatballs and fresh Italian bread from the bakery had been a success. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I’d covertly watched Mikaly eat. More specifically, I’d watched his face for any expression that might reveal he judged the dinner I’d made.
Not a one. Unless you counted pleasure. He looked thrilled by my simple offering, and it sent a burst of pleasure through me. At thirty, I’d been in relationships, but something about this man seemed different. As much as it pained me to admit, in the past, others had been sure they could change me, make me more girly—their version of it anyway.
Why, though? Why would they want to be with me only to make me into their personal version of Barbie? Actually, that was kind of an insult to how far Barbie had come over the years. Those men I’d dated had wanted a brainless puppet to act like they thought a woman should be.
Exhibit A for why it had been years since I’d dated.
Exhibit B? Well, I kept that one to myself. No one needed to know my medical stuff—HIPPA and all, am I right? I’d just say, that was another way I’d fail in the old feminine department as far as my exes were concerned. I wasn’t in a rush to go down that path again with any other guy.
But…though he didn’t know it, Mikaly was dredging up yesses from me ever since he realized I was the “Pete” he looked for and hadn’t cast a smidgen of judgment on me.
I pulled my knee up on my couch and turned to face him, resting my back against the armrest. He mirrored the action against the opposite side. After we ate, we’d come into my living room, which was steps away from the counter were we’d eaten dinner, and settled down here to talk shop while we each held a longneck.
Though he faced me, his gaze traveled around my place, taking in details. I’d noticed that about him. He was an observer. Now, he scanned over my living room and kitchen combo with a counter dividing the two spaces. I had to admit it wasn’t terribly personal. I’d never been one to wantstuffaround me.
“Your place is just like this one,” I told him. “Same layout. Main room with two bedrooms and a bathroom down the short hallway. Same furniture. Hope you like the couch. You’ve got one, too.” I gave a slight bounce.
“It’s all nicer than I expected—better than what I had before,” he tagged on quickly. “My last two jobs, I rented places off the resort. Heck, when I worked in Aspen, I had a place in one of the bedroom communities an hour away. I had to share it with three other guys in order to afford it. This is a huge upgrade.”
“That was your last job? In Aspen?” I asked, thinking of all the celebs and bluebloods he must have rubbed shoulders with.
“No,” he replied with a laugh. “That was years ago. I figured out fast I wouldn’t get ahead by staying there—not unless I wanted to be someone’s boy toy. I wasn’t looking for a sugar mama—or a sugar daddy, for that matter. I mean…some might think being the head ski instructor someplace isn’t getting ahead, but…” He shrugged. “I get to write up all the ski programs—downhill and cross-country. It affords me time to pursue other interests on the off-seasons.”
“Like what?”
“You know. Stuff. Just things other than strapping skis to my feet.” He shrugged again, clearly not wanting to reveal what he did in his spare time. I mean, I didn’t care if he were an expert basket weaver. I just wanted to know more about him. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Is this your first job? Have you been other places? How did you land here?”
So many questions from a guy who didn’t seem to want to answer any of mine. “Nope. Not my first job. I’ve only been here since the resort reopened. Before that I worked with my parents. My dad mostly. My mom’s not big on mud or bugs. Kind of like you, I knew I wouldn’t get ahead staying there.”
Plus, my last ex, Brad, worked for my father. If my dad knew what a chauvinist ass the guy was, Brad would have been out on that sexist butt. Rather than cause waves, since the man was also the son of one of my dad’s friends, I’d struck out on my own. My parents thankfully understood my excuse that I needed some autonomy.
Mikaly’s brow furrowed as if he knew I was keeping a secret.
Goes two ways, buddy. See?
Hetook a sip from his longneck bottle then quickly ran his tongue along his bottom lip, drawing my attention there. Unintentionally, I was sure.
“And where was home?”
“Oregon.”
He nodded. “Pretty place. I could see how there’d be a lot of call for a skilled outdoorsman. So you’ve been doing this since you were a kid?”
