8. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Arnav
I didn’t normally invite myself to other people’s houses. That was rude.
Inviting them over to my place was…awkward.
Mostly because I still lived in my parents’ home. Yes, I had my own suite in the basement which was as luxurious as many people’s apartments. Yes, I had my own entrance and a lock between myself and the rest of the house. But also yes, my family regularly knocked on that door to make sure I was okay .
Especially Rashmi who had moved back into our family home after her divorce.
I wasn’t clear on the entire situation. She used to talk about having a large family. But she’d never had kids. She used to talk about adoring her husband. But for a long time now, those hadn’t been sentiments expressed. She’d attended family functions alone for the past year or two—always making excuses for the guy. Then, one day out of the blue, she moved home.
We didn’t talk about it. Well, she might speak about it with our sisters or our parents, but she certainly never confided in me.
Now she tried to mother me. To smother me. At twenty-nine, I found that a little much. Except I saw, in brief moments, her pain. So I gave her more latitude than I might have otherwise.
Meanwhile, I saved for my nest egg to buy a house of my own, and I appeased my parents who always had an excuse why I should stay.
Some of those excuses were downright ridiculous. Others were heartfelt, and I found hard to refute them. But, I’d put down my foot. I was moving out at the age of thirty. Which was on January twelfth. I’d engaged a realtor, Cadence Crawford, to start scouting properties. I had a healthy down-payment saved, a stellar credit record, and an excellent source of income, so securing financing wouldn’t be an issue. I likely wouldn’t be able to purchase the single-family home I wished, but that was more speaking to the cost of real estate in Cedar Valley rather than disparagement over my efforts to save.
And none of that was relevant tonight. I’d invited myself. Foster had smiled and agreed. I had my Blue-Ray copy of Notting Hill. Hopefully he had a player. If not, I was happy to pay to watch it on a streaming service.
I’d dressed down tonight. No shirt and dress pants—as he’d seen me in the last three nights. I’d opted for jeans, a turtleneck, and a leather jacket. Fashionable and not really appropriate for the biting wind whipping across downtown Mission City on this chilly night. But I didn’t intend to stand outside for long.
And I didn’t have to. Foster opened the door even before I had the chance to ring the bell. He stepped aside and beckoned me in.
“Hi.” A little shy. A little hesitant. A lot cute.
“Hello.” I waited as he closed the door behind me. The warmth permeated immediately, and I worried he might keep his house warm. In that case, the turtleneck might not have been the best idea.
“May I take your coat?”
“Certainly.” I removed it and our hands brushed as he took it.
He hung it up in his front closet.
Then hesitated.
I asked, “May I kiss you in greeting, or is that too forward?” Another bold move—but I always sought permission, and I was giving him every opportunity to say no.
Another shy smile. “I think I would like it if you kissed me.”
Not quite as definitive as I would’ve liked, but Foster had moments when he could strongly articulate what he wanted and other times when he didn’t. When he almost appeared to believe he wasn’t worthy of nice things. That he didn’t deserve what he wanted.
Slowly—so as not to spook him—I approached. I placed my hands on his biceps and leisurely ran them up to his shoulders and his neck. Farther still, I ran them along his jaw and up to clasp his smooth-shaven cheeks. Normally I enjoyed diving in. Tonight wasn’t the time for that. I lowered my head, still maintaining eye contact.
Eventually his eyes drifted shut.
I let my lips brush his. Just the lightest of touches.
He placed his hands on my chest. To steady himself? To push me away?
I wasn’t certain.
So I continued. I pressed our lips together again. His were chapped and rough while mine were smooth. Moisturizer. Having all those sisters meant a rigorous skin-care regime. Probably why I appeared even younger than I was.
He grasped my turtleneck.
I nibbled his lower lip.
He opened for me.
I took full advantage, thrusting my tongue into his mouth. I meant to be gentle, but his soft pliancy had me taking full control. I levered him closer to me even as he wrapped his arms around my waist and drew me nearer. As I plundered his mouth, he moved against me, brushing his erection against my hip. Worried he might be embarrassed, I redoubled my assault on his mouth. If we moved to frotting at some point, I was totally fine with that.
He moaned, splaying his hands on my lower back and pressing our bodies as tight together as possible.
We’d gone from zero to one hundred in a nanosecond and my thoughts raced to keep up. I was happy to keep dominating this encounter, but I’d honestly just thought we’d be watching a movie. If he wanted more, I was certainly up for that. Truly, though, I was confused. He came across as a little shy. A little reticent. The man in my arms now was none of those things.
Something felt…off.
Slowly, I pulled back.
He gazed up at me with glazed and confused eyes. “What…?”
“Foster, what do you want?”
“This.”
“Okay.” I drew in a ragged breath and gazed into gorgeous dark-brown eyes. “But are you doing this because you want to, or because you believe this is what I want?”
His brow knit. “Are you not pleased?”
Aw shit . “I’m very pleased. I’m enjoying myself. But that wasn’t the question I asked you.”
He drew his lower lip through his teeth. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say the truth. I only ever want the truth from you. Is that clear?” I might’ve been a little harsher than I would’ve been otherwise, but I didn’t want there to be any confusion.
“Are you saying I did something wrong? That I wasn’t good enough?” His voice quavered.
Confirming my suspicion. “Foster, you were perfect. I enjoyed kissing you. But I need you to understand that I don’t expect a kiss.”
“And you think even though I said yes, I didn’t really want one.”
“I think you felt an obligation.” Which, whether I was right or wrong, meant a lot to unpack.
He held my gaze for another moment before looking away. “I enjoyed it.”
“That’s great.”
“I might want to do it again.”
“Sounds lovely.”
“But…” He swallowed. “My former owner…boyfriend…whatever…” He sighed. “I wasn’t good enough for him. He tired of me. Nothing I did was ever good enough.” He met my gaze. “I don’t think I’ll be good enough for you.”
Wow. Shit. “I appreciate your honesty. I think we need to have a dialogue about this.”
His face fell.
“Perhaps after the movie? Or another night?”
“Or never?” He whispered the words.
I shook my head. “I need to know where you are at. What happened in your previous relationships. I might be young, but I have a sense for people. You wear your hurt and I catch glimpses when you let your guard down. When you think no one is watching. I’m always watching. I’m also willing to give you as much space as you need.”
“I don’t exactly want to wallow in my failure.”
I cocked my head. “Failure?” Certainly a word I didn’t like—especially when spoken by someone about themselves.
“He left me. Well, more like he kicked me out. I had enough savings to rent a place. Not great, but I managed. Eventually a friend offered this place. He’d had a string of bad tenants and the place was a mess. In exchange for a discount on the rent, I’ve been slowly fixing the place up. Making improvements during my spare time.” He straightened a little.
Finally, I broke his gaze and looked around. The space wasn’t large, but enveloped me in coziness. “This place is lovely. Why don’t you give me a tour?”
Slowly, a smile crept onto his face. His face lit. “Yeah?”
“Yes. And then I have to go out to the SUV because I forgot the movie.”
“Why don’t you do that while I get you something to drink. Do you have a preference?”
“Something warm on a cold night?”
“Coffee?”
“I think that’s too much caffeine. Do you have hot chocolate?” He’d consumed several cups last night and had appeared to really enjoy them.
“Yeah, that would be great.”
I caressed his cheek. “I’ll get the movie.”
He blinked. “Okay. I’ll make the hot chocolate. Milk okay? Some people prefer water…”
“Milk is perfect.”
“Great.” He continued to hold my gaze. Then, unexpectedly, he went on his toes and pressed a broken kiss to my lips. Before I could react, he scurried toward the back of the house where I assumed his kitchen was.
I eyed the closet, decided I’d survive the thirty second trip to my SUV, and headed back outside.
Fat flakes of snow hit me as I darted to the vehicle. I disarmed it and yanked open the passenger door. I nabbed the cloth bag with the ten Blue-Ray discs I’d brought, slammed the door, hit the alarm button, and booted back to the warm and inviting house.
Foster greeted me with a smile and then a quizzical expression. “I thought you said you were bringing Notting Hill ?”
I offered a wide grin as he shut the door. I held up the bag. “I did. And then I thought I should bring one other. Just in case you weren’t enjoying Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts. Then, though, I got analysis paralysis.”
He arched an eyebrow.
“Well…” I toed off my running shoes. “If you liked Julia Roberts, but not Hugh Grant, then I thought you might want to watch Pretty Woman . And if you liked Hugh, then Nine Months is a must. But if you enjoyed the Brit part, then you have to watch Sliding Doors. Gwyneth Paltrow is wonderful, but John Hannah steals the show. And if you like John, then definitely Four Weddings and a Funeral . Then there are all the Meg Ryan movies. She was in so many classics— When Harry Met Sally, Sleepless in Seattle, You’ve Got Mail …” I drew in a breath. “But if you like Gwyneth, then Shakespeare in Love and Emma are musts.” I considered. “Well, and if you like Emma , then you’ll love the modern retelling, Clueless . And Drew Barrymore has a couple of films I enjoy. I’m partial to Never Been Kissed . Then there’s Jerry Maguire and one of my faves, The Truth About Cats and Dogs . And—”
Foster held up his hands. “Okay. Uh…breathe? That’s, at last count, fourteen movies? Are you planning on moving in?” His eyes sparkled with clear amusement.
“Uh…no.” I held up the bag. “I only brought ten. I figured we could ration them out over several nights. Maybe mingle in some of your favorites?”
He brushed at my shoulder. “Snow?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Not too bad.”
“Is it supposed to get worse? My crew is working inside next week, so I haven’t been paying as close attention to the weather forecast as I normally do.”
“No idea.” I offered the bag. “Perhaps you want to select?”
“Again…I thought we were watching Notting Hill . I even read up on the movie so I could discuss it intelligently.”
Alarm bells clanged loudly. “You can say whatever you want about the movie. About any movie. Or about any subject.”
He ducked his head. “Sorry.”
Slowly, telegraphing my moves, I tucked my index finger under his chin and guided his gaze to me. “What is it?”
“I’m not, you know, super smart. I’m good at my job, but I don’t read a lot of extra stuff. Gives me a headache.”
For a moment, I wondered if he might be dyslexic. Or just found reading a lot of material overwhelming. Pretty much the opposite of me—I basically read for a living. And enjoyed reading for pleasure as well. Be careful what you say. I didn’t want to censor myself, but I kept toeing potential landmines. Until I had a clearer picture, I needed to be careful.
“Have you had dinner?”
He shook his head. “Too nervous.”
“Ah. Well, I was mired in paperwork, and before I realized it, I needed to dress to come here.”
“You were doing paperwork in the buff?” He grinned. “I would’ve liked to see that.”
I tapped his nose. “No, not in the buff. Just in some sweats. I wanted to look respectable.”
“I think you’d look respectable in anything.” Gently, he fluttered his hand through the hair that fell over my brow.
“I think I need a haircut.” I was so damn busy that I never had time. Well, until things got critical because my hair was just too damn long.
“Your hair’s perfect.” He ran his hand over his closely cropped head. “Mine’s always unwieldy.” He winced “And I might be going bald. Definitely not a good look. I think eventually I’ll start shaving it.”
Another dig at himself.
Before I could say anything, though, he beckoned me to follow him to the kitchen. “I have a milk steamer. I can whip you up a hot chocolate in no time.”
“That sounds lovely. Now, we haven’t eaten. I’d like to treat.”
Foster shook his head. “No way. You paid for Stavros’s and Fifties. Tonight’s my treat.”
Don’t fight him. Just opt for something inexpensive. “Fair enough. Honestly, I have no idea what to order. What do you feel like?”
He pulled a jug of milk out of the fridge. “I can say in all truthfulness that I don’t have a preference.” He poured the milk into a mug. “I’ve got those app things on my phone. Or I can run out to pick something up.”
I gazed around the cozy kitchen.
The table and four chairs were against the back wall next to a large wall of windows.
I assumed they faced the backyard. With the darkness, I couldn’t see anything.
The appliances all stood against the wall with a little island delineating the two spaces.
As I searched for some clue as to what he might want to eat, I let the informality of the space sink in. So different from my family’s modern and state-of-the-art everything.
A flyer for Domino’s caught my eye. “Pizza?” I asked the question casually, just as he flipped on the steamer.
“Sure.” He raised his voice. “One minute, okay?”
“Yes, absolutely.” I continued my perusal of the space. The appliances were serviceable, but showed some age. The countertop was chipped in several places. Nothing bad or anything. Just that this house was showing her age. Which made me curious about just how old the building actually was.
Foster turned the steamer off. He placed his hand under the mug and gingerly handed it to me. “I don’t think I need to warn you that it’s hot. Ye who enjoys hot drinks.”
“And foods.” I saluted him and took a sip. “This is perfection.”
He ducked his head. “It’s the steamer.”
Fucking hell. “Foster?”
After a long moment, he met my gaze. And swallowed visibly.
“I told you not to speak negatively about yourself, right? You remember that?”
“Yes.”
He held my gaze, but the war of emotions crossing his face had me considering my next words carefully. “I complimented you. This is a perfect cup of hot chocolate. The steamer didn’t pick the right amount of chocolate powder. The steamer didn’t choose the correct amount of time. Right?”
“Well…no.”
“Okay. So when I compliment you on a perfect cup of hot chocolate, what should the response be?”
“Thank you. I hope you enjoy it.” He said the words quickly. Forcefully.
Still, I’d take it. Small steps . I snagged the flyer. “Please tell me you don’t take pineapple on your pizza.”
I caught the small smile as he turned on the steamer to prepare his drink.
Oh well, this should be interesting.