Chapter 39
Ariana
BAREFOOT IN THE KITCHEN
“Oh, no.” Layla giggles as she glides through the door into Novel. “It happened. It finally happened.”
“What happened?” I look around, expecting to see spilled milk or broken glass. “What is it?”
Her head falls back as laughter spills out. “You’ve been dickmatized. You’ve got that stupid, getting-the-good-dick look all over your face.”
I roll my eyes, my expression going deadpan despite the heat climbing up my neck and spreading to my cheeks. “I do not.”
“Lies.” She snickers. “You could barely string together a sentence at dinner the other night.”
“Whatever,” I reply, not wanting to discuss the details of mine and Cole’s sex life in the middle of my coffee shop at nine in the morning. Or ever, really. “How are things with Owen?” I ask, knowing that will distract her enough to lay off me.
She lets out a dreamy little sigh. “Amazing. This guy is different. He might be the one.”
To that, I can’t help but be surprised. “I thought you didn’t believe in all that fairy tale stuff.”
She shrugs, smiling proudly. “I didn’t. Some people just have that effect—change your mind, make you want different things. I’m telling you, I think this guy is my future husband.”
“Wow.” My eyes go round. “Bold statement coming from the girl who’s always declared she’d never get married. You’ve been saying that since we played dress-up and always refused to be the bride.”
She’s only ever brought Owen around the family once, at New Year’s Eve.
As far as I know he still hasn’t met our parents.
According to Layla his work schedule doesn’t leave him much free time, which I understand, but if she’s feeling this serious about him I hope she starts bringing him around more.
We barely know the guy and she’s already talking about marrying him. That’s a lot.
“Well look at you and Cole. I never thought he would get serious with someone and that guy is in love with you. You guys are perfect together.”
My heart stutters on the word love. It is way too soon for any of that. Isn’t it? I know my feelings are strong but lovefeels like such a formal word. A serious word. The last thing I want to do is cause Cole to feel trapped with declarations like that.
“We just started dating, Lay. Love is not happening anytime soon.”
She scoffs. “Ari.” Her head cocks. “That man is crazy in love with you—are you blind? The Cole Benton, notorious bachelor, chose you. Left his fuckboy behavior in the past. Do you think he would’ve walked away from all that if he wasn’t serious?
If his feelings weren’t strong?” She shakes her head.
“I called it all the way back in the summer. And honestly, I’m not even convinced he actually needed a date for that wedding.
I think he was just trying to stop you from going out with Wes and that was the only way he knew how.
Men are simple like that—they can’t think beyond their caveman instincts.
Me like girl. Me not want girl to date anyone else.
Me find excuse to keep girl close.” She raises her brows. “I mean, it’s so obvious.”
As I’m about to argue that she’s being dramatic, the bell above the door chimes, and we both turn to see Nora walking in.
“Oh, look, it’s your future sister-in-law,” Layla murmurs under her breath, snickering.
“Shut up,” I mutter through a clenched jaw.
“Hi,” Nora says, loosening her scarf and pulling her dark hair free from where it had been tucked inside.
“Hi,” Layla and I say in unison.
Nora’s gaze flicks between us. “Creepy.” She laughs.
“I always forget twins do that thing where they talk at the same time—finish each other’s sentences.
It used to drive me nuts.” Her expression drifts for a moment, like she’s caught in a memory, and I find myself wondering which twins she’s talking about.
Red Mountain is a small town; there aren’t many.
“Anyway.” She shakes her head. “I wanted to talk to you about Cole’s birthday. ”
Just as Nora finishes speaking, Layla’s phone goes off. She winces, scrunching her face. “Ugh, I have to go. I’m on call and that’s the hospital paging me.”
She rattles off a quick goodbye and hurries out the door without looking back, leaving me alone with Nora at the counter.
“Want a drink?” I ask. “On the house.”
She smiles. “Yes to a drink, but no to it being free.”
I make her one of the February specials, a red velvet latte, while she rests her elbows on the counter. Once it’s done I hand it to her and let Sadie know to hold things down while Nora and I take a seat in the back.
Her mention of Cole’s birthday threw me a little, mostly because I realized I have no idea when it actually is. Which is odd, now that I think about it.
“So what about Cole’s birthday?” I ask, trying to sound far more in the loop than I actually am.
Her lips form a tight, thin line. “It’s tomorrow. He didn’t mention it, did he?” She shakes her head, mostly to herself. “Typical Cole.”
Embarrassment jolts me. I should know when Cole’s birthday is. My skin starts to prickle at the realization that maybe I don’t know my boyfriend as well as I thought I did. If he’s holding back something as small as a birthday, what else isn’t he telling me?
“Don’t,” she says, noticing my expression. “Don’t start blaming yourself or freaking out. I’m not surprised you don’t know. He hates his birthday. He’s literally refused to celebrate it for years.”
“Oh.” Is all I manage. Why would Cole hate his birthday? Beyond the aging part, which most people aren’t fans of, hating it seems excessive. “So what did you want to talk about if he hates it so much?”
Her eyes soften. There’s a sadness there I don’t quite understand—one not usually apparent in someone as bubbly as Nora.
“He’s just seemed so happy lately. Happy because of you.
And I was hoping maybe you could do something special for him.
Not a party or some big thing, obviously it’s way too late for that.
I just stupidly assumed he would’ve at least mentioned it.
He’s had more miserable birthdays than good ones, and I think it’s about time someone changed that. ”
I have so many questions, but none that feel appropriate to ask right now.
“He usually spends it alone,” she adds. “Ignoring calls and texts, holed up at home, locked away from the world. And then the next day he’s back to himself like nothing happened.
It’s not healthy. I’m not sure you’ll even be able to get through to him, but if anyone can, it’s you.
” She pauses, her lips pulling into a sad smile.
“I just hate thinking of him alone on that day. It breaks my heart. It breaks all our hearts.”
Her eyes turn glossy, and based on the sudden blur in my own vision, I think mine do too.
“I’ll try,” I tell her, my heart aching, weighed down heavily by the thought of Cole spending year after year alone on a day where he should be celebrated. I have to find out why. My gut is telling me there’s more to this than hating a birthday.
My nerves have been in a state of chaos since I spoke with Nora. So much so that I’ve whipped up a three-course meal at Cole’s, because I didn’t know what else to do with myself.
He’ll be home any minute now and I’m equal parts excited and dreading it.
I made caprese salad, creamy garlic parmesan pasta, and chocolate-covered strawberries with red and pink sprinkles because I’m of the mindset that all desserts in February need to be Valentine’s Day themed.
The pasta is staying warm on the stove, the caprese is plated, and the strawberries are lined up in the fridge, hardening, when I hear the front door.
“Something smells incredible,” Cole calls from the entryway.
He appears a moment later, looking unfairly handsome in his work clothes, his coat half off one shoulder, and he stops when he takes in the spread across the counter. His eyes move from the food to me and back again. “What’s all this?”
“Dinner,” I say, overcome with shyness. I’ve never cooked for a guy before. Cole and I usually order in or throw together something simple.
“You made all this?” He grins. “For me?”
“Is—Is that okay?” I should’ve asked him first before invading his kitchen.
“Is it okay?” he echoes, disbelief coloring his voice.
“Baby.” He crosses the room in two strides, arms wrapping around me, lifting me off my feet and spinning me until I laugh.
“You are the best thing I’ve ever come home to.
” He sets me down but doesn’t let go, his forehead dropping to mine.
“I don’t expect this every night, like the fucking trad wife, but I’m not going to pretend that seeing you barefoot in the kitchen doesn’t make me want to clear that counter and have you for dinner instead. ”
I can only imagine how stupidly goofy my smile is as I peer up at him. “Really? You’re not just saying that so I’ll keep cooking for you?”
“Never.” He kisses me softly. “In fact, next time don’t cook, just wait for me naked and I’ll be a happy man.”
“And what do I get in return?”
His lips capture mine again, kissing me deeper, our tongues slowly caressing each other. “Everything,” he says against my lips. “I’m going to give you everything.”
My heart soars. I know he’s just caught up in the moment, but the organ beating wildly in my chest doesn’t know that. It cartwheels and leaps and flies, getting way too ahead of itself.
“First let’s eat and then you can have the strawberries I made for dessert.”
He squeezes a handful of my ass. “I’ll be having you for dessert. Nothing is sweeter than you.”
It’s ridiculous how giddy I get when he says those cheesy phrases. All I can do is smile and roll my eyes as I stir the pasta and Cole sets the table.
So civilized compared to how we usually consume food. Naked and wrapped in sheets while we snack on whatever is available.
Cole groans appreciatively as he starts in on the food. I don’t even care if he’s exaggerating, I soak it all in regardless.
We talk about our days, nothing particularly exciting, but I listen with rapt attention anyway. Mostly because it’s easier than acknowledging the dark cloud that’s been edging closer all evening—the conversation we need to have, the one I keep cowardly pushing to the back of my mind.
I get the sense the reason Cole hates his birthday will break my heart, and I’ve never been great at broaching difficult subjects.
We finish eating and together we clean up, which isn’t much of a task since I’m a clean-as-you-go kind of cook. Cole grabs a few strawberries to take with us upstairs before stretching his hand out to me and clasping mine in his.
My steps grow heavier with each climb of the stairs. I’m practically sluggish in my reluctance to bring any of this up. Cole looks over at me from over his shoulder and there’s a tinge of confusion in his expression. He knows there’s something going on. Something I’m avoiding.
Once we’re in the bedroom my hands turn clammy, tingles of unease sweeping my spine.
“Okay, something is up,” Cole announces. “In the span of five minutes you’ve gone from perfectly fine to silently freaking out about something. What’s going on?”
Thank goodness I never gave law enforcement a go, I’d be terrible at concealing anything if this is how plainly Cole is able to read me.
“Nora came to see me today,” I croak out, my mouth drier than a desert.
His brows raise expectantly, as if he’s waiting for more of the story. “Did she say something to upset you?” he cautions.
“No.” I shake my head quickly. “She told me—she told me your birthday is tomorrow.”
His face pales unnaturally. “Oh,” is all he says, and my stomach twists up into the tightest knot.
“She suggested we do something to celebrate,” I try to say brightly, but even I can hear the fabrication behind my words.
“I don’t celebrate my birthday.”
His tone is harsher than I’m used to, and ripples of dread unfurl out of me, transforming into a full-body wince.
“I’m sorry,” I rush out. “Nora suggested it, and I really know nothing. It’s none of my business how you spend your birthday.”
He drags a frustrated hand through his hair, scrubbing it down his face. The anguish in his eyes is unmistakable and I hate myself a little for even bringing this up. I don’t need to know the reason, his entire demeanor speaks volumes.
“I always spend my birthdays with Miles.” His head drops, gaze falling to the floor. “At the cemetery.”
The name bounces around in my head. It’s familiar but I’m not sure why. I’m fairly certain Cole has never mentioned a friend or relative by that name, but somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I know it’s significant. I just don’t know why.
And then it strikes me all at once, my heart constricting at the realization. He said cemetery. “Who’s Miles?” I swallow.
“My twin brother.”