9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Ella
My kitchen has never smelled so good. Garlic, butter, and something rich and savory fill the air, and I find myself leaning against the counter, watching in equal parts curiosity and amusement as Joe Matthews—NFL quarterback, town golden boy, and apparent secret chef—moves around my tiny kitchen like he actually knows what he’s doing.
“You look way too comfortable in here,” I say, crossing my arms.
Joe grins as he flips something in a sizzling pan. “What, you think all I know how to do is throw a football?”
“I mean…yeah?”
He laughs. “That’s fair. But I had to learn how to cook for myself after years of eating terrible takeout and team meals. Trust me, a guy can only eat so much bland grilled chicken and rice before he starts craving real food.”
I glance at the counter. Fresh herbs are neatly chopped, a pot of pasta simmers on the stove, and a perfectly golden pan-seared steak rests on a cutting board.
“I can’t believe you made all this,” I say, genuinely impressed.
“Yep. And if you’re lucky, I’ll even share.” He winks, and I roll my eyes, but I can’t hide my smile.
A loud sizzle fills the room as he pours a sauce over the steak, the rich aroma making my stomach growl. Joe smirks. “Sounds like someone’s hungry.”
“Shut up and feed me, quarterback.”
He plates the meal with surprising finesse and hands me a dish. I take a bite and groan. “Okay, fine. You win this round.”
Joe chuckles. “Told you. I’m full of surprises.”
After dinner, we curl up on the couch, my legs draped over Joe’s lap, his arm resting around my shoulders like it belongs there. The fire crackles softly in the fireplace, casting a golden glow across the room. Snowflakes drift lazily past the window, their slow descent matching the steady rhythm of my breathing. I should feel completely relaxed, but with Joe so close, his fingers lazily twirling a strand of my hair, my heart doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo.
“I love the pink hair,” he murmurs, giving the strand a playful tug. “Is it a Valentine’s Day thing?”
I wrinkle my nose. “Absolutely not. I’ve always hated Valentine’s Day.”
His brows lift. “Hate is a strong word for a florist.”
I sigh, sinking deeper into the cushions. “Trust me, when you spend every February 14th drowning in desperate last-minute orders and consoling people who got dumped over dinner, the magic kind of wears off.” I glance up at him. “Besides, I’ve never really been a big believer in love.”
Joe studies me for a beat, his blue eyes searching mine. Then he shifts, tilting my chin with his fingers, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Are you a believer now?”
My breath catches. My whole body is attuned to the warmth of his touch, the scent of his cologne, the quiet strength in the way he holds me.
“Should I be?” I whisper.
His lips curve slightly, but there’s nothing teasing in his expression. Just quiet certainty. “Yeah. You should.” He pauses, his thumb grazing my jaw. “I know it’s probably too soon to say it, but I love you, Ella. Believe that.”
A sharp inhale lodges in my throat . Love. The word wraps around me, warm and sure, settling in places I didn’t even know were empty. I lick my lips, and his gaze drops, darkening as he tracks the movement.
“I love you too, Joe,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “But—”
He doesn’t let me finish. His lips crash into mine, stealing my breath, my words, and every last coherent thought. His kiss is deep, searing, a silent promise that makes my pulse trip over itself. His hands slide into my hair, pulling me closer, and I let myself sink into him, into this moment that feels both impossible and inevitable.
But even as my heart soars, reality tugs at the edges. I press a hand against his chest, reluctantly breaking the kiss. “But what happens now?” I ask, my voice unsteady.
His brows pull together. “What do you mean?”
I take a steadying breath. “You have to go back to Louisville this summer, right?”
His fingers thread through mine, holding on like he already knows where my thoughts are headed. “Yeah. For training camp.”
I nod, chewing my lip. “And then what?”
Joe exhales slowly, a small smile playing on his lips. “Do we have to figure it all out right this second?”
I hesitate. “I like to know where things stand. I guess I’m a control freak.”
He chuckles, brushing his knuckles over my cheek. “You like a plan. I get that.” His expression softens. “So, here’s what I know: I love you, and you love me. That’s where we stand. And we have time to figure out the rest. Okay?”
My chest tightens, but not with fear. With hope.
I tilt my head, studying him, this man who walked back into my life when I least expected it and made me believe in something I’d spent years avoiding.
“Hey, quarterback…?”
His smile deepens. “Yeah, love?”
“Kiss me again.”
And he does.