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She laughs and says, “It’s a southern expression. It means she would love it, basically. I forgot I was in the presence of a true New Yorker.” She smiles.
“Ah, I guess I don’t know the southern lingo. But I do know Spanish, French, and Mandarin. I suppose you will have to enlighten me with more southern sayings.” I chuckle with a large grin my face.
“I speak French and Spanish, as well,” she says. “It comes in handy when I’m working at the restaurant and tourists come in. I think my boss purposely puts them in my section, so they will be impressed with the establishment having someone that’s multilingual.” She shrugs.
As I begin to get the ingredients out to cook, I ask, “Do you like working there?” She takes a moment to consider my question, but I can see the answer written on her face. Shedoesn’t like it. “It’s not terrible. I’m sure others have it worse. And some, with no jobs at all. So, I can’t complain.”
That answers my question, but she won’t admit it. She isn’t taking her job for granted, and that makes me like her even more. She is so considerate of others and compassionate. I can’t believe my luck that she collided into my life in that little coffee shop.
“Is there anything I can do to help? But before you answer, know that I am a terrible cook. I did not get that gene from my mother.,” she laughs. The sound of her laugh makes me smile. I could record that sound and listen to it on repeat.
“I just want you to sit and relax. Would you like a glass of wine?” I ask.
She nods. “I would love white if you have it.” I go to the wine cooler and pull out a bottle of white, then pour some into two glasses. I hand one to Lizzie. Before taking a sip, she smells the wine and a smile spreads across her face. Once she tastes it, she moans in delight. Oh, and do I want to hear her make that sound again, but me being the reason for it. My cock twitches in my pants as I watch her sip her wine. Her lips leave red marks on the side of the glass. She looks up at me like she knows what I’m thinking and begins to blush.
“This wine is delicious. Thank you. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can help you with?” I walk over to the stool that she’ sitting on. I take her glass of wine and place it on the counter. I cup her face and lean in for a kiss. The sweetness of the wine still lingering there and the taste that can only be described as Lizzie assaults my tongue. I could kiss this woman for the whole night and still not have enough. I pull back before this goes any further and we don’t make it to dinner.
“I want you to sit right here and drink your wine. Plus, I don’t want to have to call the fire department if something gets out of hand,” I tease.
She gives me a playful shove. “You better watch out. I might not be great in the kitchen, but I am good at other things. Softball for one. I was too busy for cooking lessons because I was playing softball all the time when I was growing up.” She points a finger at me, and I can’t help but throw my head back and laugh.
“So, you think you can beat me at softball, say at the batting cages?” I ask while I get back to the kitchen and begin to prepare the dinner.
“Of course. Although it’s been a while since I have practiced, I’m confident I will come out on top.” She blushes at her double meaning. “Are there even batting cages anywhere around here?”
“Actually, there are. Sebastian and I have been to them several times over the years. I believe they are still open for business. I’ll have to give them a call, so you can show me these skills you have. I must warn you; I won’t go down without a fight,” I reply, laughing as Lizzie does as well.
I get the dinner into the oven and walk around to the other side of the counter to lead Lizzie to the living room while we wait. “Oh, I love this space,” she says. Once we are seated, she begins looking around. “Although, it definitely looks like a bachelor pad,” she adds. I nod in agreement saying, “Well, I work long hours. I basically just use this place to crash after a long day. I haven’t gotten around to decorating.”
“You know, you don’t have to go crazy, but maybe a few paintings on the walls might make it a bit cozier in here,” she suggests.
I look around at the blank, white walls surrounding us and agree, “This place definitely needs something added to it.”
“You wouldn’t have any paintings you’d mind parting with, do you?” I turn to her and ask. She immediately begins toblush.
“I never should have told you that I paint. I’m not even that good! You will have to go to an art gallery and find something from a real artist,” she replies, looking back at me.
I grab her waist and pull her closer to me, so our faces are inches apart. I cup her cheek and pull it up, so she is looking me in the eyes. I want her to believe me when I tell her this. “Lizzie, I love the paintings I saw at your apartment. I could feel your emotions pouring out of the canvas. Don’t ever be ashamed of your work. I would love to have an Elizabeth Brighton original.”
Our eyes stay locked for a moment longer, and then I pull her closer so my lips can hungrily press onto hers. I pull her into my lap, so I can have her closer to me. As she straddles me, she puts her arms on my shoulders and her hands begin pulling at my hair. I bite her bottom lip, and a small moan escapes her. I have a hand on her waist and one on the back of her head. I need to feel her closer to me. I want to feel her pressed up against me. I want to feel our bodies molding into one. As our kiss turns fierce, the oven timer goes off in the kitchen, alerting us that dinner is ready.
I sigh against her mouth because I don’t want this to end, but I also don’t want dinner to burn. I lean back and brush a few strands of hair behind her ear. “I’ve got to get dinner out,” I whisper, not wanting to break this connection. She nods and moves to get up. I pull her back down quickly and place another scorching kiss to her lips. She gasps, and then moves off me, so I can go to the kitchen. As I walk that way, I have to adjust my arousal in my pants, willing myself to calm down.
Lizzie walks in behind me. “Something smells delicious. Maybe you can cook after all.” She chuckles. I look over my shoulder just to give her a wink. Once the pasta is out of the oven, I scoop some onto both of our plates along with somearomatic garlic bread.
?“Would you like some more wine, babe?” I ask, as I take the plates to the dining room.
“Sure, I’ll get it.” She grabs our glasses and goes to the kitchen to refill them.
I take in the sight of her in my kitchen, making herself at home; it’s the best damn sight I have seen. Seeing her here comfortable and in my home, it just feels right.Shefeels right. She is the missing puzzle piece that I’ve been without my entire life, and now that I have found her, I won’t let her go.
She brings the glasses back, and I can’t help but pull her in for a hug and a quick kiss. She looks up at me with adoration in her eyes and asks, “What was that for?”
I graze her cheek with my thumb and push a piece of hair behind her ear. “I just like seeing you in my kitchen. Here, take a seat so we can eat.”
I pull the chair out for her and push her back in. Then I take my seat opposite her. She twirls some pasta around her fork and takes a bite, closing her eyes and letting out a little moan. “Miles, this is incredible. How did you learn to cook so well?”
“My grandmother is Italian, and I spent summers with her in Italy while I was in college. She taught me many recipes. It’s a good thing you like Italian; it’s my specialty. Other than that, my skills are a bit lacking” I confess.
