AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I spent the rest of the time replying to the nicer comments on social channels, having a bath, and painting my nails a red that I’d found in Jess’ bathroom cabinet.It seemed appropriate since this evening I was going to seduce and be seduced.
Jenny was staying a second night at Edith and Bill’s–thankfully.
I could hardly wait to get Rick alone.No more interruptions.I would personally bar the door.
* * *
Rick
Rick didn't really cook, but he was getting better at one-pot affairs like ham-fried rice, chicken pot pie, and the like.
And, if he did say so himself, he did a mean rare steak complete with hand cut chips.And of course there were omelets.No man could ruin a good omelet.
For Maddie, however, he wanted something a little more.
He cracked open one of the two cookbooks his mother had gifted him when he’d signed up to fight for Uncle Sam.Christ knew when she thought that he’d use them, but the gesture had struck him as sweet, if a little embarrassing.The colorful pages of one stared up at him now, inviting, but also unquestionably a challenge.
He settled for a classic—roast chicken with herby new potato mash and a side of honey-glazed carrots.The pictures made it look easy, but Rick knew better than to believe in the promise of good lighting and glossy photos.He remembered his mother's words.The best advice I can give you is to read the recipe through at least twice.
Good advice for any situation.
Grinning, he did so, imagining his mom's face if he told her he was preparing a roasted chicken for a woman.Maddie, no less.He expected his mom and Laurie had already gossiped about it, seeing as his parents lovedCake Away.Its rainbow cookies had a special place in his father’s heart, and stomach.
As tempting as it was to text his mom and tell her that yes, he was serious about Maddie - the news she'd waited near a decade for - he didn't pick up the phone.No sense in opening a can of worms right now.He had carrots to peel, besides.
And, he didn’t want to work his mom up into a lather if Maddie went home and didn’t give him another thought.
His gut feeling was that they belonged together.He could tell she felt it too.The pull between them was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
But, a little part of him still worried he was counting chickens before they’d hatched.
He worked methodically, enjoying himself.Pushed two halves of a lemon into the chicken cavity, shoved bunches of parsley and thyme in after them.Trussed the legs up, smoothed thyme-infused olive oil over the bird, and slid the loaded tray into the oven.
While the chicken cooked and the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat filled the space, and with Jenny and Toby out at his parents’ place, he tidied the small house until it was what he considered “man clean”.Probably not magazine worthy, but perfectly fine for guests.
Rick didn’t think himself a fussy man, but, thanks to his mom, and in no small part thanks to the Army, he couldn’t leave mess lying around.
He smiled to himself, thinking of how she’d pinch his ear as a kid if he left his room cluttered day after day.He soon learned to avoid her iron grip by keeping his toys at leastnearthe toy box.
She probably wouldn’t let his age keep her from administering a good ear pinch now and again, he thought with a little grin.
When the timer pinged, he opened the oven and popped the carrots and potatoes in.The brief glimpse at the chicken boosted the fantastic aroma of roasting meat and thyme already circulating, and Rick thought he’d done pretty well.
Checking the clock, he dashed up to his bedroom and rifled through his limited wardrobe.He passed over what he typically wore for work.Many of his clothes were looking threadbare in places; fine for a carpenter, but not so much a man looking to impress an important woman.
He pulled out a button-down winter-sky-gray shirt, clean dark-wash jeans, and, after looking at himself in the mirror and running a hand over his hair, he called it good.The heavy stubble some people referred to as a beard was under control today, so he didn’t shave.Besides, he had the slight notion that Maddie might dig it.
By the time Maddie’s knock— he’d know it was her anywhere, that no-nonsense, somehow very British rap-rap-rap— sounded at the door, he had set out breadsticks with a garlicky dip, laid two places at the table his father had hand carved, and decanted white wine into a glass jug he’d unearthed from the pantry.
After looking at the table for a second, he headed into the garden, plucked some wildflowers and settled them into a mason jar he grabbed from under the sink.
He opened the door and just breathed her in.
Maddie looked refreshed, her eyes crinkling at the corners when she sent him a big, sunny smile, his favorite look on her.
She wore a plain hazelnut-brown dress that should have been utilitarian, but the almost lazy slash cut of the neckline and the clingy, puff-sleeved jersey fabric instead whispered “let’s play.”
Boy, did he want to.
