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Michelle
I’d managed to pull together a pretty tasty pasta dish, but as Gray took his first bite I found myself holding my breath. I wanted him to like it. I wanted him to enjoy it, just like I had the first meal he cooked me. The fork entered his mouth and I tried not to stare too hard, but if he was going to spit it back out I wanted to be ready to get him something else. Or at least take a bit of my cash and order a pizza. He looked up at me and smiled before shoveling another forkful into his mouth, and I felt a massive smile cross my cheeks.
Yes.
He liked it.
Point for me.
Andy never liked anything I made him. There was always a complaint about something. The sauce was too runny or too thick. The noodles were too chewy or too soggy. The meat wasn’t cooked how he wanted it to be or the flavor wasn’t right. Always something he didn’t approve of. It was one of the reasons I’d stopped cooking for him.
It was also one of the first things we’d started fighting about.
The two of us ate in silence for a little while, but as I watched Gray I noticed that faraway look in his eyes. The one he’d had in the garage. But then, I saw his shoulders tense. I watched his face etch itself into stone. He looked upset. Bothered. Distracted.
He was probably sad. Grieving in the only way he knew how. Like I was.
He’d known Anton for much longer and had more memories with the man than I’d ever have. And part of me was jealous about that. I wanted more time with Anton. With his countenance and his knowledge and his presence. I wanted Gray to tell me all sorts of stories about him. But I didn’t want to put him on the spot.
Maybe if I started talking about it, he would follow my lead. Maybe if I shared my own love for Anton, he would feel compelled to share his.
“You know, I was in a butcher shop when I met Anton.”
Gray looked up at me as he slurped some noodles between his lips.
Those lips I’d almost kissed in the kitchen earlier.
“I was behind him in line and he was ordering tripe. I had no idea what it was, and when I asked him about it, he turned around. That was the first time he called me pretty girl.”
“What did he say?” Gray asked.
“He said something like, ‘a pretty girl like you wouldn’t know what tripe is, because a pretty girl like you deserves to eat well.’ I had no idea what the man was talking about until he told me what tripe really was,” I said, with a giggle. “Then, he asked me if I’d ever had tripe soup. Even though he knew what my answer would be, because I had no idea what the stuff was, he asked anyway. I frowned at him because I thought the mere idea of it was disgusting.”
“His tripe soup was the best,” he said.
“Oh, he told me all about it. He even invited me over to have dinner with him. I actually considered it, figuring, why not? I didn’t know anyone in town hardly and I thought he was nice. He told me I didn’t know what I was missing by not having tripe soup, but that he was looking forward to rectifying the problem for me. He said that, ‘if spiced perfectly, it was delicious.’ Then I made the crack that he better spice it just right unless he wanted me spitting it out.”
“Ooh, I bet he had a field day with that.”
“Oh, he did. He said I would do no such thing at his dinner table, because all of his food was cooked to perfection. But, my favorite comment from that day was when he told me I could probably dip my finger in the broth and make it spicy enough for the both of us! Can you imagine?”
I felt my cheeks flush at the memory of it all.
“Anton was nothing if not a flirt,” Gray said, chuckling.
“I wasn’t used to overt flirting like that. Or flirting at all, really. Guys had always just sort of—throw themselves at me if they wanted something. But I liked his flirting. It was innocent and kind. Something I’d never experienced with a man before. And I knew he was being innocent enough and just trying to get a rise out of me. He told me I was even prettier when I blushed, and that I made an old man’s heart feel young again.”
My eyes watered and I dropped them quickly back to my food.
“He paid for my meat that day. He told me to stop by whenever I wanted so I could try his tripe soup. I acted hurt and asked him what happened to our date? He clutched his heart like I’d pierced him with an arrow.” Then smiling, he went on to the next.
“Did you ever try his tripe soup?”
“Nope. Tripe is disgusting,” I said.
Gray laughed and it pulled one from my lips as well, enough though my face was streaked with tears at the memories.
“You know, there were these ladies who gathered at the coffee shop in the grocery store downtown. All of them had crushes on the old man.”
I wiped away my tears and brought my gaze up to meet Gray’s as he continued.
“Anton would go down the line and flirt with every single one of them. He’d kiss the backs of their hands and toss them winks, like it was in his blood to do so. I even saw them get into a fight once over the attention he gave them. Fought like bats out of hell over whose hand was going to get kissed that day.”
I threw my head back and laughed as the mental image bombarded my mind.
“For an older gentleman, he had a grace about him. Ruddy features. That white hair swooped off to the side. Tall. Broad.”
“Sounds like you had a crush, too,” Gray said with a grin.
“It was hard not to love him on the spot. Somehow, I felt like his equal when I was around him. I wasn’t used to that.”
“He had a way of making people feel that way.”
My eyes came back to his and we sat there, just looking at each other. I got a chance to study his features. To really take him in. Those icy blue eyes. That thick dark brown hair he kept swooped directly back. It wisped around his head and fell just behind his ears. The shadows playing through the windows cast sharp edges around his chiseled jawline, and my eyes trailed down his neck, taking in the slope. It bled into broad shoulders and tapered into a strong chest.
“Pretty girl.”
Gray’s whisper hit my ears and my eyes shot back up to his. Chills ricocheted all over my body. I wanted him. I did. I wanted to crawl across that table and press my lips against his. And I was pretty sure he wanted me back. His eyes danced around my face as a grin slid across his cheeks. A mischievous grin that matched his darkening icy eyes.
But suddenly, he shot up from the table and just like that, the dark gaze was gone, the grin slid from his features and the hissing electricity between us dwindled. I leaned back in my chair as he took my plate, then quickly made his way into the kitchen.
“You cooked, I clean,” he said. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Yeah,” I said, defeated. “You’re welcome.”
I stood up from my chair, but as the water kicked on at the sink I felt guilt pool in my gut. I didn’t want Gray to think I was a freeloader. Yes, I had cooked, but I wasn’t paying the bills here. He was footing that cost. I wasn’t buying the groceries, he was. He wasn’t going to clean up my mess after I’d made it. If he was going to take care of this house financially, then I would take care of most of the cleaning that needed to be done.
“On second thought, I can clean up,” I said.
I moved toward him as he stood at the sink.
“I’ve got it. It’s only fair,” Gray said.
“You’re letting me stay here without charging me for it. I can at least keep the place clean for you.”
He tried to wave me away, but I wasn’t having it. I reached around his body and grabbed the plate, spinning him in my direction.
“Come on, it’s my turn to clean up. If you really like cleaning up, then let me cook at least,” he said.
“I’m not a freeloader. Let me pull my own weight around here since I don’t have much money to pay you,” I said.
“I don’t think you’re a freeloader, Michelle. And I highly doubt that Anton did, either.”
His words were like a punch to my gut. So much that I dropped the plate and took a step back. My foot hit a puddle and as my arms flailed, I felt myself going down. Falling. Towards the floor. Ready to land on my ass and crack my head open in front of this beautiful man I was fighting with at the kitchen sink.
Until that familiar sensation wrapped around my waist.
The plate crashed to the floor behind him, rolling around until the sound settled out. But I was too lost in his eyes to care. He slowly brought me to my feet again, like he’d done before all this started, only this time he didn’t let me go. His hands pressed into the small of my back, drawing me closer to him. His eyes fell to my lips. Studying me the way I had him. My eyes danced with his. My hands slid up his chest. I cupped his neck with my hands, smoothing my fingers along the veins bulging just under his skin.
Then suddenly, his lips crashed against mine, which I parted to allow his tongue entrance.
