by Hazel Kelly
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” she said, pulling a card out of her bag. “All that matters is what you want.”
“What’s that?” I asked, staring at my name on the outside.
“It’s a note.”
“I see that,” I said, not reaching for it.
“It’s from Alex.”
I furrowed my brow.
“I know I shouldn’t have read it, but it wasn’t in an envelope or anything, and it was shoved under my front door so—”
“What does it say?”
“Read it,” she said, sliding it towards me.
“Just tell me.”
“I don’t know what it says.”
“You just said you read it!”
“He wants to see you.”
I snatched the card and opened it, my eyes scanning his childish scrawl.
“I’ve been holding on to it for two days,” she said. “Trying to figure out whether I should give it to you, whether you even wanted to hear from him.”
“He wants to see me.” My heart floated up in my chest.
“I know.”
I glanced at his writing again, feeling closer to him just from holding something he’d held so recently. “He wants to make me dinner.”
“Saturday, I know.”
I glared at her. “You are so busted for reading my mail.”
“I know, but it was too easy. I mean, no envelope? It’s almost like he wanted to make sure you couldn’t just throw it away.”
“What do you think I should do?”
She shrugged. “You have to eat anyway.”
“True,” I said, glancing back at the note. “But what if he hurts me again?”
“Then you’ll survive,” she said. “God knows you’ve been hurt before.”
I nodded and searched her eyes.
“In my opinion, though, that’s not the question you need to ask yourself right now.”
I raised my eyebrows. “No?”
“The more interesting question,” she said, “is what if he wants to make you happy beyond your wildest dreams?”
F O R T Y T H R E E
- Alex -
I opened the oven and beef-scented steam blasted my face as I stuck the thermometer in the sizzling hunk of meat. “That ought to do it,” I said to myself, turning the oven off and leaving the door slightly ajar. I glanced at the table, which was already set, and then at the bottle of wine on the counter, which I’d already opened.
Perhaps it was poor hosting to help myself, but I needed the courage. It was impossible to tell from Gemma’s text whether she was looking forward to coming over, and the fact that it took her three days to accept my invitation didn’t exactly fill me with confidence.
Even so, I decided to stay positive. After all, she’d agreed to spend some time with me, which was progress. How she would act when she got here and whether or not she’d let me show her a good time was a separate issue.
But I had to try.
Not seeing her was killing me slowly, and it didn’t help that I kept hearing such great things about her from everyone else. Great things I already knew. Great things I wanted to be celebrating on a daily basis. With her.
Best-case scenario, tonight would be a fresh start for us. Worst-case, she was only coming to say she was well and truly over me…though I was trying not to dwell on that possibility.
I waited a beat when the doorbell rang and took a deep breath.
She was holding a bottle of wine when I opened the door, her dark hair falling in loose curls over her shoulders.
“Hi,” she said. “Nice place.”
“Thanks for coming,” I said, my chest tightening when her eyes met mine.
“This is for you,” she said, thrusting the bottle at me. “I wasn’t sure what we were having so…”
“Red is perfect,” I said, fighting the urge to hug her to me. “Please come in.”
She stepped inside and looked around, her gaze lingering on the modern light fixture hanging above us in the high-ceilinged entryway. “Smells good in here.”
“I’m relieved to hear you say that,” I said, heading towards the kitchen. When I didn’t hear her behind me, I turned around and saw that she’d taken her heels off. “You didn’t have to—”
“Habit,” she said. “Besides, you know I’d rather be in sneakers.”
I smiled and turned around. Perhaps she was only being polite, but the fact that she’d already made herself at home filled me with fervent hope.
The kitchen was more brightly lit, and as she stepped out of the shadows, I was able to appreciate how the plum-colored wrap dress she was wearing hugged her curves. “Please forgive me for tasting the wine without you,” I said, pouring her a glass from the open bottle.
“Not at all,” she said. “Everyone knows drinking wine is the best part of cooking.”
I was grateful for her kindness, her beauty. Dear God, how I hoped she could find it in her heart to give me another chance.
“Speaking of which, what are you making?”
“My cooking skills are fairly limited,” I warned, leaning against the large island.
She raised her eyebrows. “Meaning?”
“Meaning the specialty of the day is always meat and potatoes.”
“I like meat and potatoes.”
“Good,” I said. “Then you’ll love tonight’s menu.”
She came around the edge of the counter towards the stove. “May I?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said, extending my palm.
She bent down and peeked in the oven. “Roasted vegetables, too? I’m impressed.”
I was checking her out when I suddenly realized she’d dressed up for me. My guts knotted with hope.
She glanced over at me when I didn’t respond.
“I thought you’d be impressed by the tiny carrots,” I blurted.
She laughed. “I am.”
“Good.”
“Though I’m not sure why you’re trying to impress me,” she said, straightening back up and half closing the oven.
Really? I assumed it was painfully obvious.
“After the way I treated you?” She shrugged. “I’m not sure I deserve all this.”
“Oh Gemma.” I shook my head.
“What?”
“Don’t you see? You deserve so much more.”
She pressed her lips together.
“I never should’ve lied to you.”
She leaned against the counter and draped her fingers around the stem of her glass.
“You’re the last person on Earth I’d ever want to hurt.”
She stared at me for a second like she really wanted to believe me. Like she wished she did. Then the expression melted from her face as if I hadn’t said anything. “Can I do something to help?”
“Everything is ready, actually. The beef just has to settle for a few minutes.”
“Did you make these, too?” she asked, pointing at the silver pot full of mashed potatoes.
I pulled a spoon from the drawer to my left. “Here,” I said, handing it to her. “Let me know if they’re seasoned to your liking.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course,” I said, wondering whether I genuinely wanted her opinion or if I was just curious to see how she looked leaning over my stove. But as I watched her remove the steam-filled lid and dip her spoon in the pot, I got my answer. The mouth-watering scene before me was the future I wanted. No question. Her here, cooking with me, talking about food and wine and the day we’d had night after night after night.
Could I live without her? Sure. I’d made it this long. But now that I knew how much richer life felt with her in my corner, it was hard to crave anything else.
She swallowed the mash and squinted at me. “Do I detect…parmesan?”
“My secret ingredient,” I said, flashing my brows at her. “Along with a tad too much cream.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Yum.”
I lifted my chin toward
s the pot. “Have another spoonful to tide you over.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, as if I might find her double dipping offensive.
“Are you asking if I’m afraid of your germs?”
She blushed and looked away before taking another small spoonful from the side of the pan.
“I hear you’re doing a great job rolling out your initiative,” I said, taking a sip of wine.
Her eyes lit up as she laid her spoon in the sink. “Yeah?”
“Are you enjoying it?”
She nodded. “I am, actually. It’s hard work, but it’s rewarding to know the program will help new members achieve their goals faster and avoid injury.”
“That’s the idea.”
“It’s only one little project, though. I have no idea how you built so many gyms from the ground up.”
“I couldn’t have done it without my team,” I said. “They did most of the hard work. I was just the stubborn guy who refused to take no for an answer.”
“I know a thing or two about being stubborn myself,” she said, offering a shy smile before looking over at the set table.
“Are the candles too much?”
“No,” she said, glancing back at me. “They’re perfect.”
F O R T Y F O U R
- Gemma -
The dinner Alex made was delicious, but it was nothing compared to his company, which I’d missed more than I realized…his easy laugh, the way his big hands moved when he talked, the way his eyes watched me with a softness that made me feel like I could really be myself.
Even the way he cut the hunk of beef he’d cooked made me long for him, made me miss having his capable hands on me. What was I thinking pushing a man like him away? I was old enough to know good men were hard to come by. And good men that liked me back? That was an even shorter list.
After the second glass of wine, the awkwardness between us thawed significantly, and it almost felt like we were us again. The only difference was that we were both keeping our hands to ourselves, much to my disappointment.
Adding to my confusion, despite the easy and relaxed conversation, I still couldn’t tell if this dinner was supposed to act as an olive branch or a fresh start. Granted, he’d checked me out more than a few times, but that didn’t mean anything. After all, my cleavage was on display and he had a juicy piece of meat in his mouth. Any man would be seduced by such an arrangement.
As a result, I kept my cards pretty close to my chest over dinner, but as the meal drew to a close, I began to wonder if I was blowing my second chance with him by being too guarded.
Did I really think I could win him back without risking anything? Without being vulnerable?
Surely love didn’t work like that. Surely I couldn’t Rapunzel myself away and expect him to scale my tower if he didn’t know how badly I wanted him to climb up.
Oh God. I couldn’t even think straight. Not when he was looking at me like that, his chiseled face framed by candlelight.
“I have a chocolate gateau for dessert,” he said, setting his napkin on the table and leaning back in his chair.
“Did you say gateau instead of cake to make it sound fancier?”
“I did,” he said. “But it is pretty fancy. Wait till you see it. It has little curls of chocolate on top and icing so black it looks liquid.”
“Do you mind if we wait a few minutes?” I asked, glancing at my clean plate. “I’m absolutely stuffed after that.”
“Not at all,” he said, taking our plates to the sink. “I didn’t ask you over to force-feed you gateau.”
I poured the rest of the wine into our glasses and followed him over to the sink, watching as he rolled his sleeves up and loaded the dishwasher. Something about the scene made my stomach twist, as if I was looking in a crystal ball at the kind of future I might have if I could just muster the guts to reach out and grab it. “Why did you ask me over?” I asked, crossing my arms and leaning against the counter.
“Good question,” he said, glancing at me.
“Well?”
He closed the dishwasher and filled the potato pot with soap and hot water. “I guess I wanted to see where I stood.”
“Where you stood?”
“Yeah,” he said, wiping his hands on a fresh dishtowel before reaching for his wine glass. “With you.”
“Where do you want to be standing?”
He fixed his dark eyes on mine. “Much closer than I am now.”
I swallowed and felt a rush of heat up the back of my neck.
“More specifically, I want to know if you can forgive me.”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
“I know you might never understand why I did what I did.”
“You mean the heap of lies you built our relationship on and the fact that you drove me around in your mom’s car so I wouldn’t know you were rich?”
“I’m not rich,” he said. “I’m comfortable.”
I scoffed. “That’s the kind of thing rich people say.”
“If you like the Panda so much, I’ll get one.”
“That’s not my point.”
“What is your point?” he asked, cocking his head at me.
“My point is, I want to be honest with you, but I don’t want to be a fool.”
“That’s a shame. I feel like all our best decisions have been the direct result of foolishness.”
My mind flashed back to that first encounter in the steam room, to the way his skin slid across mine, to the way the hot air made it feel like his breath was all over me, when, in fact, it was only in all the right places…
“Why did you accept my invitation?” he asked.
“I guess I wanted to know where you stood, too. Where we stand.”
He clenched his jaw before knocking back the last of his wine.
“I do forgive you, though,” I said. “I know you didn’t lie to hurt me… At least, your other actions make it hard for me to believe that was your intention.”
His shoulders dropped two inches, as if he really had been worried about it. “I’m glad.”
“And you?”
“What about me?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Do you still feel the way you used to? About me?”
He stared at me, but I couldn’t read his expression. All I could tell was that he was thinking hard about something.
My stomach sank. “If you don’t, I understand.”
He reached towards the breadbox on the counter, rolled the door up, and pulled out a small velvet box.
My heart rate surged.
“Does that answer your question?” he asked, sliding the box towards me.
My eyes dropped to it before rising again to meet his. “What is that?”
“Open it,” he said, lifting his chin.
I picked it up and popped it open, revealing a diamond so beautiful, the way it glistened was almost blinding. “I don’t understand,” I said. “What is this?”
“It’s the ring I’m going to propose to you with.”
My lips fell apart.
“Someday.”
“Someday…” I repeated. “So you’re not asking me to marry you now?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”
I cocked my head.
“I will marry you,” he said. “Even if it takes another ten years for you to return my feelings, I’m prepared to wait.”
I lowered the box back down to the counter.
“Because it’s always been you, Gemma, and I will spend the rest of my life out-loving the competition if that’s what it takes. And someday, when the time is right and I’m confident you’ll say yes, I’ll pull that ring out and ask for real.” He reached for it and snapped the box closed before returning it to the breadbox. “Because I love you more than I ever thought I’d love anyone, and it feels great. So I’m not going to stop. No matter what you decide.”
I stepped up to him and laid a hand on his chest, my fingers gently tracing the b
uttons on his shirt.
He looked down at me, the conviction in his expression giving me courage.
“Would it overcomplicate things if I said I loved you back?”
He slid a hand along my cheek and into my hair. “It was already complicated,” he said, leaning down to kiss me.
I rose up on my toes to meet his lips and let him kiss me with a hunger that ignited my whole body. “Because I do,” I whispered, his hands tangled in my hair as he pressed his forehead to mine. “I think I may have even loved you first.”
His hearty laugh vibrated through my chest. “I love how competitive you are.”
“And I love how stubborn you are.”
He drew his neck back to admire me. “I can’t wait to marry you.”
“I didn’t say yes yet.”
One side of his mouth curved up. “Only because I haven’t asked.”
I swatted his chest. “Aren’t you confident all of a sudden?!”
“What man wouldn’t be with a woman like you barefoot in his kitchen?”
I rolled my eyes. “I think you skipped a few steps there.”
“You’re right.” He scooped me up in his arms. “I should give you a tour of the house before I ask you to move in.”
I draped my hands around his neck as he walked towards the entryway. “What about dessert?”
“Where do you think we’re going?” he asked, ascending the staircase carefully.
“But the fancy gateau!” I said, kicking my heels when we reached the landing. “You went to such trouble!”
He flashed his eyebrows as he whisked me through his bedroom door. “Don’t worry,” he said, tossing me down on his bed. “We can have it for breakfast.”
E P I L O G U E
Six Months Later
I don’t know why Alex left the ring in the breadbox for so long.
Perhaps he knew I’d been trying it on in stolen moments when I knew he was in the shower or out with his mom. Or maybe he just did it to drive me crazy.
Either way, I enjoyed it.
How could I not? There was something terribly romantic about having a secret engagement ring. Not only did thinking about it during the day make me smile, but the strong feelings I had for Alex only seemed to intensify every time I tried it on.
