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“Well, I might have underestimated the cooking time a bit,” I said, wiping my hands on a towel.
“What are you making?” she asked.
“Beef brisket and chili, cornbread, cowboy salad, and pecan pie.”
Her eyes lit up.
“Oh, pecan pie. I love it.”
“They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Thought it may work on a woman too.”
Her laughter filled the room, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
“I think you might be onto something there. Have you made the pecan pie yet?” she said with an eager expression.
I chuckled.
“You and your sweet tooth. I’m still preparing the crust.”
She walked to the counter, her eyes searching the containers. The moment she saw the pecans, she picked some up and ate them.
“You’re going to finish the pecans and eat dry crust,” I teased.
She smiled.
“Hmm. Delicious.”
She opened a cupboard and took a bowl.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I want to make the filling for the pie.”
I gently took the bowl away from her.
“I got this, Anna. This is the night where I do something special for you and you relax.”
She smiled, looking down at her feet then back into my eyes. The way her eyes shone made me want to hold her close.
“Okay. Thanks a lot,” she said, retreating to the living room.
That sparkle in her eyes gave me hope. Maybe she wouldn’t be furious when I revealed my past actions.
Once dinner was ready, I meticulously arranged the plates on the table, ensuring everything was perfect. I lit candles and placed them on the table.
The aroma of the dishes was inviting. I poured two glasses of wine. The liquid shimmered in the candlelight.
Stepping back, I admired my handiwork.
My mind filled with anticipation, nervousness, and a profound sense of longing. I longed to hold Anna. To tell her everything. To see understanding and forgiveness in her eyes.
The thought of her rejection terrified me. Yet, the need to be honest with her overshadowed that fear.
Anna was more than the woman I was attracted to. She’d been the missing piece in my life all these years. All through childhood and when we’d dated as teens, she’d been the one who made everything else make sense.
Squaring my shoulders, I called out to her while going to the living room.
“Anna, dinner is ready.”
