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“Well enough, I suppose. I convinced Lia to have dinner with me.”
“Ah well, I knew this day would eventually come.” Lachlan strode over and dragged a chair in front of me, concern creasing his face. Reaching over, he clasped my shoulder and looked me deep in my eyes. “The time for us to havethe talkhas arrived. Now, Munroe…when a lad likes a woman, there comes a time when they’ll want to express their love in a bodily manner.”
“I’d like to express something to you in a bodily manner,” I said, holding up a fist, and Lachlan threw his head back and laughed. Lia came into the room just then, stopping our conversation, and warmth bloomed in my chest just looking at her. She’d changed into form-fitting jeans, a soft pink shirt that immediately made me think of her naked and had dusted some makeup across her face. I wanted to lick every inch of her skin and hear her beg me for more.
“You look beautiful,” I said, standing quickly and handing Lola to Lachlan. Crossing the room, I held out my arm. “Ready for dinner?”
“I’m famished actually. As much as I love food, I’d completely forgotten to eat today.”
“You two kids have fun. Don’t stay up too late,” Lachlan called as we started out.
“I didn’t see a curfew in my employment contract,” Lia called over her shoulder, and I laughed when Lachlan swore.
“You’ll do well here,” I said as I held the door of the car for her. “Banter is highly prized.”
“So I’ve learned. Frankly, it’s kind of like working in a kitchen. Half the day is just spent ragging on each other,” Lia explained.
“It sounds fun,” I said, and we chatted lightly about life as a chef. Soon, I pulled up to the brightly lit stone cottage, and Lia glanced around.
“What is this place? Is this a restaurant?”
“No, it’s the cottage I’m renting.”
“The cottage you’re renting?” Lia arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a bit presumptuous for a first date?”
Immediately, worry filled me. “Och, aye. I’m sorry. Of course, you’re right. We can go elsewhere. I just…I get interrupted so much when we go out here that I thought it would be nice to have a quiet conversation while I cooked for you.”
“You’re cooking for me?” Lia’s voice rose, and she tilted her head at me.
“Is that also a bad thing?” I asked, deflating. Here I’d thought I was being romantic, but maybe I had played my cards all wrong.
“No, Munroe, not at all.” A smile bloomed on Lia’s face, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Nobodyevercooks for me. I think they’re too scared to.”
“Och, rightly so. I’m terrified. But I’m giving it laldie.” I got out of the car and rounded the bonnet, opening her door and helping her from the car.
“What does that mean?” Lia asked.
“Just…give it my all. With great enthusiasm.”
“That’s one of the best ingredients, you know,” Lia said as I unlocked the door to the cottage and held it open for her. “Enthusiasm. Next to love, of course.”
“Love?” I asked, pausing as I shut the door behind me. My heart hammered in my chest at the word. I knew my feelings for Lia. But it was far too soon to share them. I’d barely managed to convince her to go on a date with me. It would be ages before she’d let me tell her what I felt about her. In the meantime, I could do my best to show her in every other way possible that I wanted to be the man who would stand for her.
“Yes, love.” Lia smiled. “Everyone thinks that being a good chef is about following a recipe perfectly. But there’s some things you just can’t teach. It’s instinct maybe, a gut feeling. But if you really love what you’re creating, well, it shows. A good chef can make a perfectly presentable meal. A great chef adds their enthusiasm…gives it laldie…and you’ll taste the difference.”
“You really love what you do, don’t you?” I asked. Picking up a lighter, I walked around the room and lit the candles I’d placed on the mantle over the fireplace, on the small dinner table, and along the breakfast bar. Lia automatically rounded the counter and bent to peel up a corner of the tin foil that covered the lasagna dish.
“Nope, sit,” I ordered, pointing at a stool on the other side of the counter.
“Just being nosey.” Lia laughed and did as she was ordered. I poured her a glass of red from the bottle I’d had breathing on the counter, and she smiled her thanks at me. “And to answer your question, yes, I do love it. I’ve loved cooking ever since I was little. I learned it at my mother’s knee, I suppose. She’s Italian, and I think food is also her love language. She’s convinced that everyone is always starving, and you never leave her house with an empty stomach. God, I don’t know how she did it.”
“Did what?” Crappity, crap. Lia’s mother was Italian? Like proper Italian? And here I was trying to serve her lasagna? That’s right. She’dtoldme that, and I had forgotten. Nerves had sweat springing to my palms, and I picked up a dish towel to wipe my hands before pouring myself a glass of wine as well. “Slàinte.”
“Cheers,” Lia said, tapping her glass to mine. We both drank, and I tried to tamp down on my nerves about cooking for this beautiful woman. “I don’t know how she fed all of us. There were the five kids, my father, plus any of our friends we brought around. My mom fed them all. We barely had two pennies to scrape together, but she is a master at making a budget stretch. I think it’s what made me so good in the kitchen as well. I learned to be creative if we ran out of ingredients or ended up having a busier night than usual. Instead of turning people away, I’d just figure it out. It’s what you have to do when you’re poor.”
Lia said the last part almost absentmindedly, and I took that as an opportunity to learn more about her. Turning the oven on, I opened the fridge and brought out a small charcuterie board I’d prepared—just a few simple things like olives and a variety of cheeses—and placed it out before rounding the counter to sit on the stool next to hers. I liked sitting there like this, cozied up to the counter, the stools drawing us closer than if we’d sat at the dining table.
“Was it tough? Or was it something you didn’t really know about until you were older?” I asked.
