“I think I burned it,” Hudson said, cringing.
He stood over the stove staring down at the skillet. Chandler sniffed the air. She’d just walked into his home using the key he’d given her.
Crossing over to him, she peeked around his arm and took a good long look at the two chicken breasts in the skillet. One side was charred black.
Perhaps this was still salvageable. “What do they look like on the other side?” Hudson flipped one over and she grimaced. “Black as well. Maybe we can scrape it off.”
He cocked his chin. “These are inedible. I’m not going to ask you to eat something that I wouldn’t. No. Maybe we’ll order pizza?”
He was trying so hard to cook that it warmed her heart. She took the pan and walked over to the trash, pressed the foot pedal and dumped the chicken into the container.
“Let me show you how to do it.”
He slumped against the counter. “I need all the help I can get.”
She gazed at him from the corner of her eye. “You’ve eaten out for years, so you’re out of practice.”
He lifted an open bottle of beer from the counter and took a sip. “I don’t think that I was ever in practice.”
“Nonsense.”
She smiled at him over her shoulder, and he gave her a warm grin in return. “Teach me. I’m yours to command.”
A giggle leaped from her throat. “First, you want a medium heat. You don’t want the heat on high or else you’ll wind up with what you just had.”
He put the sweating beer down and moved behind her, placing his hands on her arms. Her entire body stiffened under his touch. She didn’t use to be like that, and she didn’t know if he noticed.
The chicken sizzled and he murmured in her ear. “I see. That’s how you do it, huh?”
She bashfully wiggled out from his grasp. “I can’t concentrate if you’re whispering sweet nothings in my ear.”
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Duly noted. I’ll just be over here.”
He relaxed his hip against the counter and sipped his beer while she explained how to cook the chicken.
Before it was done a burning smell, a new one, permeated the kitchen.
She sniffed. “Do you smell burning?”
His eyes flared wide in surprise. “The vegetables! They’re in the oven. Stand back.”
She took a step back while he grabbed an oven mitt and pulled open the door. A thick cloud of smoke rolled out from the mouth of the oven and swallowed his face.
When he reappeared, Hudson shut the oven door and dropped a cookie sheet atop the stove. Nestled atop the steel sat charred vegetables. What looked like the remains of carrots, potatoes and—were those Brussels sprouts?—were shriveled to the size of small rubber balls and were completely inedible.
He dropped his chin to his chest. “You sure that you don’t want to order pizza?”
Chandler pressed her hands to his cheeks and tipped his face to hers. “I love eating chicken all by itself.”
He chuckled. “Then chicken we shall have.”
* * *
When they were finished eating and the kitchen was cleaned up, Chandler moved to the couch and Hudson followed.
He sat on the opposite end of her and tapped his lap. “Your feet, please.”
She smiled, never one to turn down a foot rub. But still…her emotions were whirling inside her.
“What is it?” he asked as if reading her mind.
“Nothing.”
“It’s something.” He patted his lap again, and she slipped off her sandals and slid her feet onto his lap. He pressed his thumbs into the spot just under the ball of each foot, and a moan of pleasure slipped from her lips. “What is it?”
Her eyes, which had been closed, snapped open. “It’s nothing.”
He dipped his head in a knowing look. “You can tell me. Whatever it is.” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Is it about the wedding?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Her hands flew up to her face, and the next thing she knew, Hudson had slid closer to her. He touched her hands and gently pulled them away from her face and pressed them to his heart.
“You can tell me anything, Chand.”
She felt his heart beating beneath her hands. There was no way that she could or wanted to keep this from Hudson. He deserved to know the truth, so she grabbed hold of her courage.
She inhaled a deep breath. “It’s just that lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s understandable. It’s still fresh, what he did to your family.”
“I know.” The words to tell him the truth jammed up her throat. She couldn’t say it, couldn’t admit to Hudson, who she’d already put through so much in the past months, the depth of her worry.
When she’d left New York, Chandler had distanced herself from him. She’d lost her muse and was convinced that she wasn’t good enough for Hudson or his family. Then he’d come to visit, and she had broken things off completely. Their relationship was over until he showed up one night and said that he wanted to be with her, no matter what.
Now her muse was back, and they were engaged. How could she tell him her next fear?
She would simply have to get over it. That was all there was to it.
“Chand? You in there?”
“Huh?” He was studying her. She blinked. “Sorry. I guess I spaced out.”
“I was telling you about my parents.” He slid back to his side of the couch and took her feet in his hands, immediately pressing into that same spot beneath the ball of her foot.
“What about them?”
“They’re coming for a visit.”
“Oh? They are?”
“To see how I’m settling in.”
“Ah.” Which meant she certainly couldn’t tell him her worry now. His parents had already booked plane tickets and were coming.
Maybe her fear would work itself out.
She tipped her head to rest it on the back of the couch and moaned as his fingers dug into a tender spot. “That feels good, and I’m glad they’re coming.” She lifted her head and forced a smile. “Your parents should get to know my family better and vice versa.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“When will they be here?”
“Couple weeks.”
“Good. I can’t wait to see them.” Which was true. His mother was kind, and his father was a caring man. “Do I need to get them a room anywhere?”
“Already taken care of, and there’s something else,” he started.
“We’re having chicken tomorrow night?” she joked.
He flashed her a look that said, No, we aren’t. It would probably be a while before he ventured to cook them dinner again. But he got huge points for trying.
“I’d like for you to design my wedding band.”
His words nearly choked her. She sat up straighter. “You sure?”
“Of course. If I hadn’t wanted my proposal to be a surprise, I would’ve asked you to design your own ring. But that would’ve defeated the purpose.”
“Yes, it would have.”
“So?”
She inhaled deeply, knowing that there was only one answer that she could give. “Of course I will. It’s the best gift that I could give you.”
But even as she said it, Chandler felt her bones sagging. How was she supposed to design rings when her mind was at war with itself?