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Her mother lifted a finely sculpted brow slightly. “You chose a wonderful designer, darling. The same one several celebrities have used. Very well done.” Helena turned down the corners of her mouth. “Although they certainly weren’t buying off the rack.”
Jillian barely stifled the groan threatening to explode. Naturally, her mother wasn’t happy that she loved the dress. She didn’t smile because she thought her daughter looked beautiful. It was all smoke, mirrors, and appearance. She turned to face the window and stared out at the slowly setting sun.
She tracked every mile they traveled that brought her closer to the townhouse she was sharing with Dean. A warm wave of comfort washed over her. It felt like home. So much more than the massive house she grew up in. Her fingers fell to the silver handle before the driver had even pulled to a complete stop. She was certain her mother would be disappointed that she hadn’t waited for the driver to open it for her.
“Have a nice evening, Mother.” She climbed out of the car as soon as it was thrown into park and barely stopped herself from racing up the cement steps to the front door.
The exhaustion of the day hit her hard as she turned the handle and crossed the threshold. All she could think about was finding the nearest horizontal surface and passing out for some yet-to-be-determined period of time.
Until the decadent scent of basil, oregano, and tomatoes tickled her nose and drew her into the kitchen. The rich aromatic smells triggered her stomach to growl. Inquiries as to exactly what Dean was cooking and pleas to have even a small sample if it wasn’t yet ready all died on her tongue when he came into full view.
“You havegotto be kidding me.”
Dean turned and offered a dazzling smile for a full second before it disappeared. “What? You don’t like stuffed shells now? It’s a meatless sauce.” He hefted a pot over to the counter and ladled out some of the self-proclaimed vegetarian tomato sauce onto the baking dish sitting beside it.
She crossed the few feet separating them and stood next to him with a small, but wholly intentional, bump of her hip on his. “You know it’s one of my favorites and I’ll be damned if that doesn’t smell like Izzy’s sauce, but I’m talking about the outfit there, Sparky. ‘I cook as good as I look?’”
After a quick glance down at the apron he was sporting, he gave her a completely unrepentant grin. “Hey, I don’t need any splatter getting on my clothes.” He shrugged and lined up the already filled pasta shells on the glass dish with intense precision. “Besides, don’t women love a man who brings home the bacon and cooks it? Well, fake bacon for you. Although we probably should discuss that topic soon because I’m not certain I’m willing to give up my bachelorhood and bacon at the same time.”
Jillian shook her head, but couldn’t fight the smile that popped up. “How do you do that?”
Dean drew his brows together as he spread more sauce over the top of the shells and sprinkled mozzarella cheese on top of that. “Do what? Make dinner?”
She tilted her head and rested it against his bicep with a small sigh. “No, how do you manage to make me smile and forget the fact that I had a perfectly shitty day in less than five minutes?”
He stiffened slightly beside her before putting one arm around her waist and squeezing slightly. “Isn’t that what a good husband would do?”
His hand fell away and he moved to set the heaping dish in the oven already radiating warmth in the small space. Jillian turned and rested her hip against the counter, tracking Dean’s motions.
Exactly when had her best friend stopped being immature and irresponsible and how had she never noticed? She could blame her infrequent visits home and sporadic Skype chats, but a good friend would still manage to see these things.
And a good friend especially would know what he did at Wyatt’s ranch.
While she’d been lost in her own head, Dean managed to pour her a large glass of chardonnay. “How about you tell me about your shitty day while this cooks?”
She took the proffered, and much needed, adult beverage and took a long swing. “Only if you tell me how work was, Sparky.”
He lifted his own glass and tapped it against hers with a grin. “Deal.”
Chapter Twelve
Dean
Thirteen Years Ago
“Did you run here inthat?” Dean skidded his bike to a halt and dropped it to the ground beside the lake just as Jillian reached him, her chest heaving under the beaded emerald dress.
She hefted the material and plopped onto the rock. “Shut up.” She folded her arms across her front and huffed. After a handful of moments she hopped off the stone and began pacing, not missing a step on the uneven surface despite her two inch heels. “I am so over it.”
Dean lifted his brows, but he knew his best friend and kept his mouth shut. She’d talk when she was ready. His eyes tracked her as he moved to take the seat she’d just abandoned. He flattened his palms against the warm stone slightly behind him and waited while she fumed.
Seconds became minutes as she huffed and snarled and started to speak before dissolving into a frustrated growl and resuming her cadence.
Finally his impatience won out and he took off his baseball hat to wipe away the sweat beads that had formed as he pedaled to their meeting spot after her frantic and frustrated text that she wanted to see him. “Out with it.”
His words had the miraculous effect to bring her steps to a halt. She stood as rigid as the trees surrounding them, her arms ramrod straight by her sides.
Her jaw flexed a few times before she pointed a condemning finger toward the house in the distance. “Her.”
