AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Not like this," he said as he circled the dining table, which I'd set carefully with the white Italian dishes in the cupboards, along with a few candles (now burned down) and a spray of late-blooming sunflowers.
I'd made a Caesar salad to go with the dinner, and Jane had helpfully brought over a cheesecake from Mike's before going to break up with Eric. I made a mental note to call her about that tomorrow morning. She had said she had a red-eye flight that night; otherwise, I would have invited her to stay here.
"I don't think I've ever seen you make anything more than boxed macaroni or warmed up soup," Brandon remarked good-naturedly as he poured himself a glass of wine and refilled mine on the counter.
I limped over to pull the sizzling pan out of the oven. Okay, it didn't look horrible, and it stilled smelled pretty good. Maybe a little overcooked on the top, but I didn't think it would be that bad. I stood up with a satisfied smile and set it on top of the stove.
"I still have a few tricks you haven't seen," I said. Bravado. Yes. That was what I needed here.
Brandon carried the pan to the table so that I wouldn't have to on my bum ankle. I followed with a serving spoon and then took a seat while he dished both of us up. I watched as he took a bite, chewed once, and stopped, his face suddenly stuck in one position.
"What?" I asked. I picked up my fork and eyed the meal dubiously.
His blue eyes glinted in a way I hadn't seen in a while, in that way I yearned for. He held his lips still, then carefully, forcefully, swallowed the bite in his mouth.
"It's...ah..."
My face fell. "It's no good, is it?"
Brandon chewed on his lip for a moment, clearly forcing back a grin, although he couldn't stop his dimples from appearing. "It's...different."
"You're so full of shit."
I threw my napkin at him, which he dodged with a chuckle. As embarrassed as I was, the sound made my heart warm. I'd make a thousand shitty dinners if I got to hear him laugh with me again.
"Okay, you try it, Red," he said with another grin that lit me up inside too.
"Fine," I said. "I bet it's fine. Bubbe gave me the recipe."
"But you cooked it?"
I rolled my eyes and speared some of the eggplant, which immediately fell off the fork, unable to keep its shape. Brandon watched with mirth as I shoved it in my mouth defiantly.
I chewed. Once.
"Well?" he asked.
"Oh my God," I said through a mouth full of complete and utter mush. "That's absolutely terrible."
This time Brandon laughed, a full-throated laugh that filled the entire room. I forced down the offending food, and started laughing with him. Suddenly the entire setup seemed hilarious and neither of us could stop laughing. The slightly wilted flowers, the burned-out candles, the overcooked food. Who was I kidding? This wasn't me; it never had been. I was closer to Bettie Page than Betty Crocker.
"Bubbe was right," I said after I forced the bite down. "It really does taste like slugs!"
"Can I––can I get something Ana made now?" Brandon gasped between heaves. "Unless...no, Red, I'm sorry. I can't eat it."
"Are you kidding? I slaved over this all afternoon!" I cried out, causing him to laugh even harder, me right along with him.
It wasn't until I was wiping tears from underneath my eyes, trying not to smear my carefully drawn eyeliner that we finally stopped laughing. I set down my fork and stood up to clear away the offending dish, which Brandon quickly scooped out of my hand again and took to the kitchen before returning with cheese, prosciutto, and a cutting board.
"You didn't have to do that," I said when he returned. "I offered to make you dinner."
"Well, there's still the salad," he said as he sat down and took another drink of his wine. He dished himself up some greens, then stopped with a quirked eyebrow. "You didn't make this dressing, did you?"
I almost threw my napkin at him again, but the dimple in his cheek made me stop. It just felt so good to joke with him again. That is, until I noticed the slightly darkening skin underneath his left eye, and a fresh scrape on his cheek bone, partially camouflaged by stubble. It wasn't the same bruising that he'd gotten during his scuffle with Messina's men. This was something new.
"What happened to your eye?" I asked, pointing my empty fork at his face.
Brandon touched a hand to the puffy skin and blanched, all signs of merriment gone. "Oh. Nothing. I just ran into a door at work yesterday."
