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Some might consider him to be the proverbial forbidden fruit, but I wanted every bite. But still, nobody could know.
I knew I had a bright future ahead of me. I was awarded the Winston Scholarship of Culinary Promise, which allowed me to go to one of the best culinary schools in the country. It was an opportunity that we never could have afforded on our own. And I knew my grandma would say that messing around with a guy like Dante was just a distraction that I didn’t need.
But when I first saw Dante, on the grounds crew of the Culinary Institute of America, I had to know more about him. Unlike me, he didn’t seem to think much of the future. On a different day, I’d remember to be bothered by that, but with him standing on my porch, looking at me like I was the only woman in the world, I didn’t care about the future.
Besides, with time, I could convince him we had a future. He had to see it, too.
Dante reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from my face. At well over six feet tall, he towered over me. The feeling of his rough, calloused thumb on my cheek sent shivers down my spine and…to other places.
“You’re so beautiful,” he rasped. I blushed under his intense gaze. In this light, his eyes almost looked black.
“I should go,” he said, looking anxiously toward the house. “I don’t need your grandmother finding me standing here with you this late at night.” A humorless chuckle escaped his lips.
I had never told him that my grandmother would disapprove, he just somehow knew. Dante knew he was probably bad for me.
“Actually, she’s not home.” The words came out in a rush as he had started to turn and walk away. He looked back at me and smiled. And oh god, I was lost in that smile. A slight dimple popped out on his right cheek and his teeth were so white and so straight he dazzled. He didn’t seem real.
He slowly turned and took the last few steps so he was standing right in front of me. Barely any room between us for a breath.
“And Ella?” His voice was low and gravelly. It did wicked things to my insides. I had to remind myself to breathe.
“She’s at a sleepover.” I shrugged, trying to act calm. “It’s just me here tonight. I’m all alone.”
I tried my best with a wicked smile, but I was starting to get out of my depth here.
“Would you like to come in and have a drink with me?” The words were barely a whisper. The dimple in his smile seemed to know that I wasn’t actually inviting him in for just a drink.
“I would love to have a drink with you, Amber.” His words were slow and purposeful and full of what was left unsaid.
My cheeks flushed, and with slightly shaky hands, I turned toward the door, trying to get the key in the lock. After a few tries, I turned the knob, and we both stepped into the dimly lit space. The only light was from above the oven in the back of the house.
My body thrummed with anticipation as he stepped around me and into the house. He was so close. Dante smelled like something woodsy, with a hint of fresh cut grass. I swayed, trying to get closer.
But I shut the door and followed Dante into the modest living room. The small space was packed full of old furniture, cozy blankets and pillows, and so many pictures. My grandma had pictures of everything: family, friends, Jesus. Her Catholicism ran deep, and if there was any doubt about that from this room, the large print of the last supper over the dining room table in the next room really drove home the point.
Dante did a small circle of the room.
“This is a nice house,” he finally said, turning to me.
“Thanks. It’s nothing special, but it’s home.”
He chuckled, but there was no humor, just darkness.
“Trust me. This is luxurious compared to where I stay.” I sensed some bitterness in his tone. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him more about where he lived. I didn’t care where it was. I just wanted to get to know him and be close to him.
He always told me that where he lived was no place for someone like me. That really pissed me off. I tried to explain to him that I didn’t come from a wealthy family. I was on a scholarship. But he still seemed intimidated by his assumptions about me and kept me at arm’s length.
“So…a drink?” I asked nervously. I wasn’t proud that I was about to dig into my grandma’s wine stash. But desperate times and all that.
“That sounds great.” His charming smile and dimple returned.
“Okay, I’ll grab a bottle of wine. Please, make yourself at home.” I saw him take a seat on the couch from the corner of my eyes as I dashed into the kitchen to get a bottle and some glasses. I dug the glasses out from the back of the top cupboard. Gramma usually just used juice glasses, but I wanted to impress Dante. I checked they weren’t too dusty, but they seemed fine.
I thought for a split second before microwaving some chicken nuggets from the freezer and cutting up some slices of cheese. I searched for my grandma’s fancy serving tray she used for company and dumped the nuggets, cheese and some cherry tomatoes that we had lying on the counter. Reaching into another cabinet, I came out with the toothpicks and the nice cocktail napkins.
There, it looked fancy. Even though I doubted that Dante really cared about my hostess skills.
Balancing everything on the tray with the bottle of wine tucked under my arm, I carted it all to the living room. As I was setting it on the coffee table, Dante put his hand lightly on my arm. Awareness zipped through me and I almost dropped everything and pounced on him. But I gathered myself and twisted off the wine cap–yes, we really were fancy in this house.
