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After leaving California, I needed a haven, and Gabby didn’t love hosting, so our apartment was the perfect place to create that. There were expectations of me everywhere but here. This was the only place where I could kick back and do nothing. It was only an apartment, but it was my haven in my fast-paced and demanding life.
As such, it was the unspoken rule that we rarely brought people by. I had broken that rule today. I knew Gabby wouldn’t be mad, but I was nervous.
My watch announced it was five, followed by Parker’s punctual knock on my door. My heart raced, and I didn’t understand why I was so worked up over him coming. He had a bottle of wine in one hand and a bag filled with ingredients slung over his shoulder.
“I know that wine doesn’t go with gumbo, but I figured it was a safe choice drink outside of beer,” he laughed.
“Why didn’t you get some beer? That seems more fitting.”
“Because I panicked? I don’t know. It just felt like a wine kind of Sunday.”
“Okay, I respect the logic.”
I moved away from the door and let him inside. He looked around the living room and seemed to spend time familiarizing himself with and studying the space around him. He perused the pictures that hung on our back wall, lingering on one of Gabby and me at our college graduation.
His bag thumped on the island as he unloaded the ingredients. Immediately, he moved things around and looked for bowls to parse his ingredients into.
“Anything I can do to help?” I offered, needing to force myself to do something other than stare at the handsome man in my kitchen.
“Sure. Are you willing to get greasy, princess?”
“I know you’re mocking me, but I’m still willing to help you.”
He let out a hearty chuckle and handed me some chicken to shred. I slowly tore it apart while he busied himself with everything else. Our dish towel with little muffins hung over his shoulder, and his shirt clung to his back muscles. I had to remind myself that I was supposed to be shredding chicken, not staring at his perfect back, moving around the kitchen.
He threw the ingredients together in the pot with no measuring cup in sight. He didn’t say a word for a bit and worked methodically. I would be genuinely impressed if this tasted like the gumbo I bought from James and Adam.
I was terrible at cooking. Every time I tried to make something new, I either burnt it, didn’t cook it enough, or the food tasted weird. Instructions weren’t hard to follow, but I still couldn’t get recipes right unless it was only a few steps.
“I’m done!” I announced, proudly showing him the shredded chicken in the bowl like a child showing off their macaroni art.
“Great,” he reached over my shoulder, his smokey scent drawing me in. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”
I wiped up the island to take care of some dirty spots where I had dropped pieces of the cooked chicken and hopped up. I sat facing him, dangling my legs over the edge, and watched as he placed a lid over the pot.
“While we wait…. where do you keep the wine glasses?”
“Oh, I’ll get them.”
I almost jumped down before he set his warm hand on my thigh and pressed it down. His firm palm against my thigh kept me in place.
“You look…comfortable. Point. I’ll get them.”
I pointed to the cabinet on the right of the fridge. The wine glasses lived on the top shelf since we rarely used them. Gabby and I were partial to using our regular water or plastic cups out of laziness.
“Can you even reach those?” he laughed, noticing that the shelf was too high for me to grab anything comfortably.
“Nope. I either have Gabby grab them or use the step stool in the space between the fridge and the cabinet.”
Parker checked the space to confirm that there was a step stool there before setting the wine glasses on the island. He rummaged through the drawer to find the corkscrew and opened the bottle. The smooth, dark liquid poured into the glass, and he handed me one, encouraging me to keep it raised.
“To new friends and the new experiences that we’ll have…all because I couldn’t open a locker.”
His hand rested next to my exposed thigh. Parker stood before me, locking me to my spot on the island with his body. His smile, straight out of a magazine, didn’t disappear when he sipped on the wine. Suddenly, my excitement for honoring our agreement awoke.
“So, are you ready for work tomorrow?” he asked.
“No,” I rolled my eyes and leaned back, using my arms to support me. His gaze flickered to my exposed collarbone, peeking out of my off-the-shoulder sweater before he returned his eyes to mine. I felt a sudden shiver spread through me and tried to ignore his eyes on me.
