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“Thank you,” Diedrich gives me an awkward little bow. His accent is heavy, his speech slower. “Our food is traditionally heavy. With cream and meat. But I make dishes without them for you.”
“I can’t wait,” I say, and Diedrich turns back to his work. Chris guides me out of the kitchen to leave Diedrich to his work.
“He needs about two hours. He’s done most of the prep work in advance, but he is cooking a three-course dinner for us tonight that will take some time. I thought we could open a bottle of wine and enjoy the fire pit.”
I glance back outside and see that Chris pulled two chairs up by the fire, plaid blankets dropped over the backs. When I turn back to Chris, my heart flutters at the look in his eyes. “That sounds like a date night.” It comes out as a whisper.
Chris tilts his head down, capturing my mouth in a kiss. When he breaks away, I get the satisfaction of seeing his eyes lusty.
“Maybe I should change clothes.”
Chris’s gaze travels down to my yoga pants and hoodie.
“I could wear that black dress again.” I’ll be cold, but to see that look on his face again? Hell yeah.
Chris reaches out as if to pull me to him but clenches at the air at the last minute. He runs his hands up over his face and into his hair, breathing deeply. The movement pulls his shirt up, and I get a glimpse of tattooed claws and lean muscle. “Go change, temptress.”
“Temptress?” I say, stepping toward him. Our fronts brush together, my breasts to his chest and his hardening cock against my stomach.
I feel like a temptress with the way he groans, and in a flash, his hands are gripping me hard, his mouth crushing mine. His kiss is urgent and heated, and I wrap myself up in him until there’s a bang from the kitchen that reminds us that we aren’t alone.
Chris mutters something under his breath before pulling away. “Go change. I’ll change too and meet you outside.”
His hands linger, gently keeping me against him as I try to pull away. With a final groan, he gives up and lets his head fall back.
Given the opportunity, I kiss his Adam’s apple. He’s got a good one, angular and prominent, and I feel his surprise. I’ll definitely give it more attention later.
“See you in fifteen,” I promise and head upstairs.
When I come back downstairs,Chris is outside poking the fire, and I observe him for a few minutes while he is unaware. He dressed up, too, wearing black slacks and a maroon long-sleeved button-up shirt. It hides his tattoos but emphasizes his trim waist, and I enjoy the view.
I’m wearing that black dress, although I didn’t want to spend time with as much hair and makeup as before, so my hair is in a low bun at the nape of my neck, and I’m only wearing mascara and lip gloss.
The air is crisp when I step out onto the deck, but he stalks over and kisses me until I’m overheated. We settle on the couch and say “Prost,” clinking our glasses of wine together.
We talk about Chris’s childhood in Hamburg and mine in Texas. When I try to gloss over my relationship with Kit, Chris stops me, and I end up describing our wedding, and we discuss the effect of a baby on a young marriage. I kick my shoes off and pile them with Chris’s next to the couch; a blanket covers our laps, and at one point, Chris runs in and gets me one of his hoodies to wear. My legs are in Chris’s lap; his body feels warm against me under the blanket.
“It’s definitely hard to feel sexy when you’re wiping your daughter’s pee off the walls as your husband comes home from work.” I shake my head, staring out at the lawn and graying woods around us. “I always wonder what it would have been like if Kit had beat his cancer. Would we be like so many couples who limped along until they divorced, or would we have rediscovered each other when things calmed down?”
“You don’t think it was a sure thing? Fate? Soulmates?”
I shake my head. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved Kit when we got married. And maybe I thought he was my soulmate at some point. But somewhere along the way, the optimism disappeared.”
A throat clears behind us, and when we glance over at the door to the house, Diedrich stands just outside, apron and jacket slightly more mussed than they were before. He says something to Chris, and Chris looks at me. “Dinner is ready.”
We untangle and stand. I take the blanket with me, wrapping it around my shoulders as Chris bends to pick up our shoes. When we enter the house, the lights are dimmed, music is playing, and Diedrich has set the kitchen island for two, candles and all.
Once we’re perched on the island seats, Diedrich opens the oven door, sets it to low, and removes two plates, protecting his hands with kitchen towels.
“This entrée is a sampling of German street food,” Diedrich says as he puts the small plates down on the glass chargers in front of us. He points to the leftmost item. “This is a potato pancake with a sauerkraut and vegan creme fraiche. This here is a currywurst made with seitan. Then a vegetable strudel. Thank you.” He punctuates this by walking back to the stove and leaving us to taste the food.
Chris leans into me. “What’s seitan?”
“It’s a wheat meat replacement. I’ve eaten it before, and it’s got a kind of chewy-meat texture.”
Diedrich says something from the stove while stirring, and Chris looks up, and they talk back and forth for a few moments.
“Diedrich made the currywurst with seitan and mushrooms and steamed in a foil packet.”
