by Amy Rose
“I’m ready, dear” I call out in an overly dramatic voice.
Elliot leaps off the couch and turns to face me. He has a huge smile on his face and holds his arms out in front of himself, open to me. I cross the room until I am standing right in front of him. “You look great, Ange.”
I feel my cheeks redden at his compliment, immediately thankful for the powder blush that I had just applied. “Thanks, you too,” I smile up at him.
“Are you ready to go have some dinner?” he asks.
“Sure, where are we going?” I reply.
“My place” he answers with a wink. Taking my hand in his own, he leads the way back to his home, closing the door to the guest house behind us as we leave.
~ Chapter Twenty ~
We walk together hand-in-hand across the lawn toward the back patio area. As we get closer, I can see that at the center of the ten-seater dining table is a large candelabra alight with at least eight candles. It provides a soft glow around the tabletop. Through the window I can see someone moving around in the kitchen. I look beside me to where Elliot is. “Do you have your very own personal chef?” Not being able to keep the sarcastic tone out of my voice.
“I sure do, and indeed that is he, you have already met him this afternoon,” he replies. I turn to look into the kitchen again, and now that we are closer, I can see the familiar sight of the white-haired mature gentleman from this afternoon. Andrew, wasn’t it?
“That’s Andrew, isn’t it? He answers your door for you and cooks your meals. Is he your butler?” I can’t help but asking.
Elliot smiles in response and nods. “Yes, he is. He has worked for my family for fifty years, give or take a couple, and his father for years before that.” His tone is surprising, not official but warm and caring.
“You like Andrew, don’t you?” I ask.
He stops us in our tracks, turns to me and looks me in the eye. “Yes, I care for Andrew. He has always been like an uncle to me, and I consider him family.” He stops for a moment. “Also, he is an incredibly good cook.” He smiles a full tooth-showing grin. A grin of someone without any cares in the world.
After a further moment, we start to walk again. Elliot shows me to a spot at the dinner table where he pulls out the seat for me. “Would you like to take a seat, mademoiselle?” His playfulness and attempt at a French accent was adorable.
“Oui, monsieur. Merci”. I did so and he pushed my seat in quietly.
“You know French?” he asks.
“Only a couple of words. You?”
“Just about the same as you, I’m afraid. Are you comfortable?” I nod in response. He then steps to the seat next to mine and sits down himself.
We had not been seated for any longer than thirty seconds when Andrew comes out of the conservatory towards us with a bottle of wine in hand. “Would you like a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, Miss White?” he asks. He has such a caring face and a warm smile.
“Yes, please, Andrew. May I also have some water?” I replied.
Andrew starts to pour my wine “I’ll go fetch you a pitcher of water in a moment, Miss White.” He then moves around me and fills Elliot’s glass. Once complete, he returns to the kitchen.
Within the blink of an eye, he has returned with a silver pitcher of water with ice cubes bobbing around the surface. He places it toward the midpoint of table. “Your entrée will be ready in fifteen minutes,” he informs us before walking back to the kitchen.
Elliot and I are finally alone. I take my wine glass in hand and raise it slightly in Elliot’s direction. “Here’s to a wonderful afternoon and hopefully, evening.”
I toast, Elliot lifts his glass and clinks it softly into mine. “I hope so, too,” he murmurs before taking a taste of his wine.
“So, what’s on the menu tonight?” I ask, not that I really care what we will be eating. However, I want to get the conversation started.
“Something delicious, I’m sure,” Elliot replies. I can see the candlelight dancing across his face. I sigh silently. He really is beautiful.
“I’m sure it will be. I find food always tastes better when you don’t have to cook it yourself.” He answers me with a soft chuckle.
“Did you find the products I left for you in the bathroom?” He asks, interrupting my thoughts. So he did place them there for me. I am instantly glad that I used them.
“I did when I was showering. Did you choose them?” I ask.
He nods and then turns ever so slightly to face me. Looking up through his lashes, he answers, “I’d like to think of myself as a fairly observant person. I noticed when I came to your house for dinner earlier in the week that the candle you had burning was vanilla and coconut. I figured you liked the aroma, as do I.” He stops for a moment before continuing. “I haven’t purchased those items before. The lady in the department store I purchased them from told me that they were a lovely product.” The way he looked at me was as though he was wanting my confirmation.
I lean my head close to his and turn it slightly to place my hair in front of his face. “I used all of the products. Do you like the smell?” I ask.
I feel him grasp my hair and push his nose into the strands. I then hear him inhale deeply, he pulls back slowly and releases the grip he has on my hair, allowing me to also pull my head back. “It smells heavenly,” is his only feedback.
I know that if I were to peer into a mirror at this moment, my cheeks would be bright red, and since he was looking right in my direction he would notice. With just a touch my skin will jump to attention like electricity was running over me or with one word he can make my heart race. I shouldn’t let a man have this much control over me. I have to somehow hold my own. I will never allow someone to have control over me again. Even if that control elicits a wonderful sensation.
I need to take back control of the conversation and get my heart back under control. Allow my cheeks to return to their normal shade. It is time to steer it back into more comfortable waters, where I can be in the driver’s seat and hold my own, so to speak. “I’m looking forward to seeing the design plans that you have drafted for your new house.” I pause trying to read his expression. “You mentioned that you had your assistant drop them off for you here. That way we can browse over them together while I am here,” I finished.
Elliot took his time replying. “Yes they are here. What’s the rush though? After all, we have all weekend. Can’t we just enjoy each other’s company and share a delicious meal together tonight?” He looked almost sad, as though I had wounded him. That most definitely was not my intention. Do I be truthful? Should I tell him my reservations? It couldn’t hurt, could it? He might agree wholeheartedly. Be in a similar position?
I take a quick sip of my wine for courage, place the glass back down and prepared myself to speak. “Ah Andrew, that smells delicious” Elliot’s words give me some reprieve. Our entrée is about to be served.
Andrew appears almost out of thin air and places a small round white bowl down on the table in front of me. I lean forward and take a whiff. It did smell amazing. He places Elliot’s down next and turns to look at me. “Pea and ham soup, Miss White, I hope you like it” and he shuffles off back towards the kitchen before I have the chance to thank him.
I pick up my soup spoon and lower it into the bowl, allowing the hot liquid to fill the depth of the spoon. I lift it out of the bowl and raise it to my lips, depositing it in slowly, allowing the hot broth to wash over my tongue and awaken my taste buds. I savor the taste for a moment. I could definitely taste a delicate smokiness to the ham, also the smooth texture that the pea gave it. I swallow, and immediately repeat the process.
We eat our entrée in silence, apart from the occasional clinking of our spoons on the bowl, or the sound of an owl hooting in the distance. I eat three quarters of the bowl before I set my spoon aside. I grab my napkin and with a corner dab my mouth a couple of times, after placing the napkin back down I pour myself a glass of iced water and take several large sips, so many ti
mes over that I drain the entire glass.
I look over at Elliot who was setting his bowl back on the table beside his spoon. He must have drained the last little bit of his soup by drinking directly out of the bowl.
“Before our soup was served, it looked as though you wanted to say something, Angela.” Elliot speaks with clarity. His hands steepled together under his chin, he is observant, I will give him that. This is where I need to decide if I come up with something else or just tell him what I am feeling?
“Elliot, I haven’t had a meal with a man in close to four years,” with the exception of Liam. of course, but I’m not going to bring him up again, not after the apparent jealousy that it caused in the car ride earlier today.
“I enjoy spending time with you, a lot, I just don’t want to get comfortable, as in my experience, that’s when things tend to go downhill, and I don’t want to lose, whatever this, between us, is.” Well that’s it, it’s all out there now. I look down at my hands, and then reach for the water pitcher and refill my glass again. When I place it back on the table, I chance a glance at him. Instead of looking at me, he is looking out towards his extensive backyard. I had blown it; in that moment I know that I should have kept my mouth shut.
“Angela.” he says slowly. “Thank you for being honest with me. I don’t want this to come to an end either. Since I met you, I’ve found someone with whom I have so much in common. You challenge me with your ideas, you make me laugh, even when you aren’t trying. You take control.” He stops for a moment and then turns to face me; our eyes lock. “I want to see you as often as I can, get to know you, everything there is to know about you. And maybe, if you’re interested, I could even share some things about myself, too.” He doesn’t say anything further, just looks at me for my decision. He is going to leave it in my hands, my control. What do I say?
I decide to say nothing, instead I push my chair out gently. I see Elliot follow suit, to him it must look like I am preparing myself to leave. Instead, I decide to do something completely out of the ordinary for me. I decide to be brave, too brave for my own good. I am sure that this will backfire on me, but it is too late for that now, I won’t back down.
I reach for his sweater, grabbing two fistfuls of the material and pull him towards me and kiss him, not gently, not at all timidly. I kiss him with feeling. I lick his bottom lip with my tongue and encourage him to open his mouth for me. He allows me entry and I push my tongue into meet his and they dance. The electrical current on my skin erupts into flames, even more than the last time we kissed, and I know in this very moment that I have fallen for this man. In less than two weeks I have let some of my walls crumble down, allowing Elliot into my heart. This is either going to end with a happily ever after or it was going to end terribly. But for now I would enjoy the immense amount of joy coursing through my veins.
I slow the kiss and begin to gently feather kisses on the edge of his mouth before pulling away. I release my grip on his sweater and place my arms around his neck. I stand there in front of him, gazing into his eyes, waiting for him to say something, anything. He looks away for a few moments and then returns his gaze to me before he takes my face in his hands and whispers one word. “Wow.”
I can’t help but smile at his response. Elliot Sands had bowled me right over and he didn’t even know it. “I don’t know about me but, you certainly are wow, Mr. Sands” I move my right hand into his hair as to ruffle it slightly. As I do, he starts to shake his head.
I drop my hand immediately, he must have felt my hand begin to retreat because he starts to speak again. “When I said wow, I meant about you. I thought you were getting up to leave, like I had said something to scare you away. But instead of walking away, you kissed me. I wasn’t expecting that.” He glances over my shoulder quickly and then back into my eyes, with a smile he speaks, “Andrew is coming with our dinner, shall we sit?” He captures my left hand and helps me to my seat; after pushing me in, he then retakes his own, never letting go of my hand.
I see Elliot nod toward the kitchen area located behind us and I gather it must have been a signal, as shortly after I can hear Andrew walking towards us. He places our dinner in front of us both, clears his throat and begins. “For your main course this evening, I have prepared lamb rack with dauphinoise potatoes, steamed baby carrots and green beans with mint sauce”. He fills both our wine and water glasses, gathers up our soup bowls and used spoons and makes his way back to the kitchen.
I am looking at the meal in front of me and wondering which item to try first, when Elliot interrupts my train of thought. “This is one of those meals I eat quite often. In fact, I try to have it once a week. Are you a lamb eater, Angela?”
I’m not sure how to respond. I don’t want to be rude so I nod, and think of a way to answer this without offence. “The potatoes look fantastic, and the intense hue of the mint sauce, I don’t know how he has produced such a deep green, Andrew sure knows how to cook,” I reply. Two compliments and no mention of the lamb; hopefully that will appease him. After all, tonight is going so well and Andrew had been slaving away in that kitchen for several hours at least. He doesn’t need to know that lamb was the meat I enjoy the least.
I decide to try the vegetables first. The green beans have a nice crunch to them as do the baby carrots. I can taste the honey glaze that coats the carrots, and then when I am feeling a little braver I cut one cutlet free from the rack and slice a tiny piece of meat away from the bone. I fork a piece of carrot along with an offcut of bean with it to try and disguise the flavor. It almost does the trick. The lamb taste wasn’t overbearing. I chew as quickly as I can and then swallow. I reach for my glass of water and have a sip to wash it down.
I can do this. There are three cutlets to a rack. If I could eat one cutlet and then cut the other away to look as though I had tried to eat it that might get me out of trouble. I didn’t want to offend Andrew and all of the effort he had put into creating this meal for us to enjoy. I make sure with every mouthful of lamb I also had a piece of vegetable and then coat it all in mint sauce. I look up a couple of times to see if Elliot was watching me, but luck be a lady, he was concentrating on devouring his own meal.
When I have eaten as much lamb as I can possibly stomach. I decide to speak. I have an idea as to get away with eating no more. “I suppose Andrew has prepared us a dessert, too?”
Elliot looks up at me and he smiles. “He has. Why is that?” He replies. This is the response I was hoping for. I fork my last cut piece of meat with a piece of potato and lift it towards my mouth. “This will be my last forkful then. I need to leave some room for dessert.” I smile and then pop the fork in my mouth and finish it quickly.
“You’re right. I should probably leave some room too” Elliot places his cutlery down and I notice that he has eaten a similar amount of meat as I. That was good, Andrew wouldn’t see anything off about my plate.
“Do you mind if we try to get to know each other a little better? We can both ask each other questions.” Elliot gestures with his hand waving first to me and then back to himself.
“Okay, depends what you ask me. A girl has to keep some things to herself, you know,” I reply and wink. I hope that he doesn’t hear the reservation in my voice.
“Touché Miss White. Some topics are off limits. If we are asked something we don’t want to answer, we should just say, ‘move along,’ agreed?” This puts me at ease a little. Then also raises more questions, there must be some topics he doesn’t want to discuss, either.
“Agreed, I will go first. Hmmm, what to ask?” He nods to confirm. He once again steeples his fingers under his chin. I notice he does this when he seems to be thinking.
There are so many things I want to know about this man. Should I start out with easy questions hoping that he would follow suit? Or go straight to the ones I am dying to know? Wikipedia hadn’t mentioned anything about his personal life. Tempting as it was, I decide safe, easy questions were the way to go. At least to begin with.
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br /> I compose my features into the most serious face I can muster. I place my hands on the table interlocked with each other, looking into his eyes and start the interrogation with an easy one. “Okay, Elliot. Question number one is…” pausing for dramatic effect, “What is your favorite color?” I smile.
I can see that he lets out a breath he must have been holding. “Good question. My favorite color is green,” he replies. “Okay, it’s my turn.” He rubs his hand along his chin. “Okay, I’ve got one. Do you have any siblings?”
I’m glad he has asked me an easy question. It appears my tactic to start with easy questions rubbed off on him. I shake my head. “Nope. It’s just me. My mom and dad wanted another child, but it never happened for them.” I didn’t need to give that much of a response. A simple nope would have been sufficient.
“Okay, it’s my turn again” Do I ask him about siblings? I decide against it, instead asking something I really wanted to know the answer too. “How many girlfriends have you had?’ I ask, Elliot raises his eyebrows in response and stops stroking his chin. He quite possibly might refuse to answer. “One. It was when I was still in high school. We separated our first year of college. She cheated on me.” He pauses, before continuing. “Cheating is a deal breaker for me.”
I nod, “I’m sorry. I agree one hundred percent with you. Cheating is a deal breaker for me too.”
“Same question back at you Angela, how many boyfriends have you had? Or girlfriends, even.” He cocks his eyebrow.
I playfully swat at his arm. “One boyfriend.” I sound out each syllable of the word. “I met him when I was in high school. I left him close to four years ago.” I didn’t want to tell him the reason behind my leaving.
“Why?” Elliot asks. Do I tell him he has already asked his question and it was now my turn? Then he would just ask it next time, or I could voice our safe words of move along to get off this topic. I take in a deep breath preparing myself for the story.
“It’s a long story.” I start hoping he would say not to worry about it.
