Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
FEELS LIKE PINK
Ella
“I used to dream of a love like this.” — E
W hen I was a little girl, my father didn’t have much time to cook me a healthy meal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He shared every meal with me and never missed one. If he did, he always made sure I never ate alone for a day in my life. If he couldn’t be there, Uncle Benji stepped in, and at times when Shaw worked for us, he too accompanied us. Sunday dinner was, and still is, my favorite meal because Dad always made sure to have Sunday nights off and he cooked the only dish he knew back then: spaghetti and meatballs.
He prepared the food with so much love, and even though my father hated messes, he allowed me to stain my clothing and face with marinara sauce while I chewed on the gigantic and delicious meatballs.
When I woke up today, I didn’t realize it would be the first Sunday I would spend dinner alone, without my family. But as I followed the delicious smell that triggered many fond memories of the past, I realized I might not be spending Sunday dinners alone after all.
I came to a sudden halt as soon as I found myself in Shaw’s large kitchen. Taking a sweeping glance around, I notice details that had escaped me when I first roamed this place by myself. I couldn’t miss how the kitchen exudes an air of refined elegance without seeming over the top. A row of designer pendant lights cascades from above, casting a soft glow over the kitchen island below. High-end silver appliances are perfectly placed on the counter. In the corner, there is a built-in espresso machine, and I’m suddenly giddy with the thought of enjoying mornings with the finest brews. Unlike most of my siblings, I enjoy a cup of coffee early in the morning to get my day started right.
As I take everything in, it feels as if this spot, his kitchen, is the heart of the ranch.
Suddenly, the rhythmic clang of pots and pans being deftly maneuvered on the stove pierces through the air, pulling me from my thoughts and catching my attention.
Behind the kitchen counter, Shaw moves, his silhouette outlined by the warm glow of the overhead lights. He is dressed as usual in a sleeveless dark gray graphic t-shirt and ripped jeans. His sleeves are rolled up to reveal tattooed forearms corded with muscle.
Wow.
I stand there in awe, just staring at him. He looks effortlessly handsome, with strands of golden hair falling across his forehead, slightly tousled from the heat of the stove. God, he’s so beautiful that at times I find myself wondering if he’s real.
I stand watching him as he moves around the kitchen like a seasoned chef. Each motion seems deliberate, from the precise chop of vegetables to the gentle whisking of sauces.
I wonder if he cooks all his meals. Did he prepare the breakfast and lunch I didn’t get to eat because I was too busy feeling sorry for myself today?
Shaw’s rough hands move with surprising gentleness as they divide the pasta evenly between two white ceramic plates. There is a tenderness in the way he cooks. It’s a tenderness I haven’t seen much since arriving here at the ranch, but I’m glad I get to experience it now, even if he doesn’t know I’m witnessing it.
My heart thuds violently in my chest when my eyes settle on the two plates: spaghetti and meatballs. Could it be a coincidence, or did he remember that it’s my favorite dish? I hope for the latter.
My eyes shift from the food to the man behind the kitchen counter.
Shaw’s gaze meets mine, and my tummy flutters. Gah, those eyes—those whiskey eyes undo me.
He dips his chin. “Are you hungry?” he asks.
With a quick nod, I reply, “Yes.”
The aroma of the meal wafts through the air, enveloping me in a comforting embrace as I make my way toward the kitchen table. Shaw’s gaze remains fixed on me, his expression unreadable, yet there is a sense of softness to him that wasn’t there before. He then picks up the two plates and motions for me to take a seat at the table.
I move toward the table and take a seat, quietly observing him. Shaw reaches the table and gently places the plates down with a soft clink, arranging them with care. The ceiling lights cast a warm glow over the scene, illuminating Shaw’s features in a soft, ethereal light.
How can one man be both this beautiful and rugged at the same time? I have no idea.
“Spaghetti and meatballs?” I ask, feeling vulnerable yet incredibly happy at this moment.
Shaw on the other hand places a basket of garlic bread in the center and then goes to fill the glass next to my plate with fruit punch. I melt at that. He remembered. This isn’t a coincidence. Spaghetti and meatballs are a common household dish, but serving it to me with a glass of fruit punch like Daddy used to do when I was small… he remembered.
Shaw clears his throat and takes a seat. “I hope you still like it.”
I can’t contain the small smile that appears on my face as soon as his sweet words fall from his lips. It takes every bit of my control to hold back on the million things I want to tell him, so I bite my lip and take a sip of juice to cover the full-blown smile. Then I suck in a breath and push down the sudden swarm of fluttering nerves in my stomach.
Is he mad? Why is he doing this? Why would he leave me flowers and a note to find?
So many questions…
As we both sit in silence, my traitor stomach growls in protest, an obvious sign of hunger. I blush, hoping he hasn’t heard, but the slight curve of his lips reveals otherwise. Shaw’s eyes twinkle with amusement, a silent acknowledgment that he heard. “Dig in,” he says, his gaze drifting to my plate. “You should eat,” he urges softly, his voice cold yet tinged with what I think might be concern. But that couldn’t be true, could it?
“Thank you,” I say, picking up my spoon and fork. Yes, I eat my spaghetti and meatballs with a spoon and fork. Mom would have a coronary if I didn’t.
My not-so-grumpy-today bodyguard takes a bite of his food while his eyes remain on me. “For?”
I hold his gaze, feeling the nerves slowly fading away.
“For this Sunday dinner,” I say.
His eyes soften just a little before he takes a sip of his beer but says nothing.
But that’s the thing about Shaw Banning: he’s not a man of many words, and yet I find no issue with it. I don’t need his words. I am perfectly content sharing his silence.
And that’s what we do.
We sit in silence, sharing a nice dinner that he made for me. For me…
No one apart from my family has ever shown me kindness without expecting something in return.
Shaw Banning, the man who just a day ago claimed he was merely a bodyguard and nothing more, surprises me with pink flowers and cooks my favorite dish on a day when I am feeling low. He doesn’t even realize how much happiness he brings me.
He is kind without expecting anything in return.
He watches intently as I lift the fork to my mouth, my lips parting slightly as I take the first bite. As soon as I bite into the first meatball, an explosion of delicious flavors takes over my mouth. I close my eyes in sheer pleasure, a soft sigh escaping my lips. When I open them, it’s to find Shaw sitting back in his chair, staring at my lips. Feeling a rush of boldness, I slowly lick my lips and watch his reaction.
When I think he won’t give me anything, he surprises me. What looks a lot like desire flashes in his eyes for a brief second before it disappears.
Huh! Got you, grumpy.
You’re not that indifferent to my charm after all.
After this dinner, there’s no doubt in my mind about that.
I just need to peel those hard edges of yours and bulldoze my way into that grumpy heart.
We both finish our meal in complete silence, enjoying each other’s company without needing words between us.
While chewing the last bite, I notice Shaw reaching under the table and picking something up before setting it down on the table and pushing it my way. My eyes narrow when I see two white boxes—one bigger than the other.
“For you,” he says, sounding bored, yet his eyes tell a different story.
“But why?” I breathe out.
Shaw shrugs. “Just because you’re stuck here doesn’t mean your life has to be put on hold. You go on posting on social media like nothing is wrong,” he says while I pick up the iPad and its pen, feeling emotion swelling in my chest. Why? Am I dreaming of this? As I wonder if I am stuck in a wonderful dream, Shaw speaks again, this time in a low and lethal tone. “You don’t have to fear that someone is watching your every move. That’s why I’m here, and as long as I’m here, nothing will touch you. No one will touch you.” He vows, and my heart skips a thousand beats.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
“I, ah—” I can’t for the life of me find the words. Instead, I stare at him while my heart finds a slow but steady rhythm. It’s almost as if the organ is trying to tell me something.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, snapping me out of whatever trance his lovely words put me under. “These are for you too.” Then he stands up and reaches for something on the counter before extending another box my way, this time a light pink one.
Without uttering a word, I grab the small pink box and open it to find macaroons. Pink ones.
As he stands above me in silence, I look at the sweet treats and feel my heart beating stronger than before. All I can think of is how this moment feels very much like pink: sweet, kind, magical.
Such a simple and sweet gesture coming from a man as hard as him makes me think that maybe—just maybe—a genuine smile and belly laughs are not so far away. “You didn’t have to do all of this.”
“I hurt your feelings, and for that, I’m sorry. I messed up. Yes, you are my client and my job, but you’re also someone good and kind, and I should treat you as such.” He clears his throat and then averts his brown eyes for a second before they meet mine again. “Forgive me.”
“I forgive you, Shaw,” I whisper, hiding a smile.
His blond brows furrow as he stares back.
He doesn’t smile, and that’s okay because tonight he gives me something just as good. He shows me the man I used to know: the man whose heart was so big I swore it didn’t fit inside his chest.
My Shaw bear.
And even though he’s now a grump who snarls more than he smiles, I wouldn’t want him any other way.
Because Shaw Banning, the man who gifted me one of my favorite sweets, flowers, and made me my favorite meal just to say he’s sorry, is perfect just as he is.
“I’ll protect you with my life, and I’ll do my job, but I will also try my best to make your stay here, however long it is, pleasant.”
I can’t hide the smile anymore.
In fact, the smile widens, so much so that it almost hurts, yet I don’t feel pain. None.
All I feel are a million butterflies dancing in my belly as Shaw pins me with his gaze.
I’ll get there, Shaw. I’ll conquer that heart of yours and paint your world pink, I vow silently as he stares at me, looking almost concerned… but maybe not concerned, but… afraid.
What could possibly scare a man as large and lethal as this one?
Then Low’s words from before come to mind.
Could it be?
But then I realize maybe it’s not me he’s afraid of, but the feelings I might stir in him.
“Deal?” he declares, extending a hand toward me.
Rising from my seat, I almost jumped in excitement. “Deal,” I say, shaking his hand forcefully and sealing our deal.
A bolt of electricity runs through me as our hands touch, and for a second, I think it’s just me, but then Shaw lowers his gaze and his nostrils flare.
He feels it.
Good.
Because Shaw Banning is in for the ride of a lifetime, and he has no idea.
Because I know what I want. I’ve always known.
Shaw’s name has been etched in the stars within my heart long before I met him.
Now I just need him to see it.