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“How about where we met this morning? There’s wine, and we can always order takeout or—”
“Or,” I finished. “Why don’t I cook for us?” The last time I showed off my culinary skills to Giana, we were in college, pulling all-nighters as we crammed for finals.
She batted her mile-long lashes, hope sparkling in her heart-shattering eyes. “Like old times?”
“Yep, just like old times.”
Inside the pantry and fridge, I found ingredients for spaghetti with marinara sauce.
While I prepared dinner, Giana shared her plans to open a real estate firm and stories about her rival Margo as she sat perched at the center island, palms cradling her face. It reminded me of our college days when she hung out at my place, and in between make-out sessions that led to mind-blowing hours between the sheets, I threw meals together, refining techniques learned in class.
I wished those days never died, wished my time with Giana wasn’t sacked by choices made when young and dumb. I would’ve given up almost everything to zip back in time. Change my Goodbye to I’m staying.
“You know, I recorded all your TV appearances and watched them with Noni.” Giana sipped wine, twirling a lock of her raven-brown hair around her finger. “Bought your cookbook too.”
We were seated on the living room couch, finishing our glasses of wine before calling it a night. I’d booked a hotel room not too far away and planned to drive back to the city early the following day but wasn’t quite ready to leave the gorgeous woman seated beside me.
“That cookbook is an integral part of my life’s next chapter, a chapter that led me here,” I said before adding all the details about Food Network’s offer.
“Oh my gosh.” She beamed, setting her empty wineglass onto the coffee table. “That’s why you’ve been ultra-picky, the reason why your entire face lit up like a Christmas tree when you walked into the kitchen?”
“More or less.” I leaned forward, set my glass beside hers, and then relaxed back into the couch, my knee touching hers. The subtle contact made my chest heat, a sensation not felt in what felt like a lifetime. “I could literally visualize Gridiron Foodie coming to life in there.”
Truth be told, I had high expectations for the show. Ideas on how to grow my brand as a chef. Definite plans to keep making a name for myself apart from football.
“Now that I know, I can see it too.” The effects of too much wine stained her cheeks, and I tried not to stare, mesmerized by how fucking beautiful she looked.
There was no denying that our chemistry, electric and palpable, rebounded like muscle memory. And though I had the urge to lean in, claim her lips with a soft kiss, thoughts of my complicated life swooped in and shoved my smitten ass back to reality.
“So…” I raked my fingers through my hair. “Tell me about this family-drama wedding fiasco.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it, sparkling eyes dulled with hesitation.
Brows raised, I said, “C’mon. You promised,” my voice laced with encouragement. It seemed easy to understand Giana’s hesitation, but sometimes talking about shit helped.
“Well...” she began. “The little backstabbers started dating one minute after Chad suddenly broke off our engagement.” She paused, rolling her shoulders as if to ease pent-up tension. “Sofie spoon-fed me buttloads of ‘it just happened’ and ‘you can’t help who you love’ make-me-wanna-stab-myself-in-the-eye bullshit. Fast forward a few months later, and there they were, announcing their engagement at Noni’s annual Thanksgiving dinner.”
Giana’s summation took a second for me to stomach.
What happened to the sister code? And fuck her asshat ex-fiancé. The jerk likely did Giana a favor by breaking off their engagement, whatever his reason.
I couldn’t begin to imagine the damage inflicted on her heart, maybe even her self-esteem. She’d always been perfect to me, but since her mother abandoned her when she was little, Giana seemed to struggle with feeling like she would never be enough. Our collective decision for me to chase my football dreams six years ago didn’t help.
“I’m so sorry, Gigi.”
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Honestly, I just wanna get through this wedding and be done with the whole thing. Stacy had planned to join me, but with a shortage of nurses, the hospital’s just too swamped for her to get away.”
“So…you have no plus-one?”
“Well…” she fiddled with her earring. “For the past year, I’ve kinda sworn off men and dating…so, to answer your question, no. I don’t have a plus-one for my sister and ex-fiancé’s stupid wedding.”
Suffering that shitshow alone, without someone to lean on for support, sounded like a bad idea. “I can be your plus-one.”
CHAPTER 6
Giana
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