Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
When the last load of debris had been hauled away and dumped, revealing the torn-up yard that was in dire need of a green thumb, Patrick turned off the engine and looked at his watch.
“It’s after lunchtime. You hungry?”
“Starving,” Emily replied.
“Come on. Let’s make some food.” He helped her past a smattering of limbs, then onto the porch, and with a twist of the knob, he opened the front door and let her inside.
His cottage was the perfect balance between relaxed coastal charm and deliberate bachelor style.
The uncluttered atmosphere, with natural light pouring in through wide, salt-sprayed windows at the back, gave her a sense of immediate calm.
The thickly planked, weathered wood floors looked built to last, with a few well-placed woven rugs adding just the right amount of texture.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked. “I’ve got sweet tea and lemonade.”
“I’d love some tea.”
He offered her a seat on the sofa in the open-plan living area attached to the kitchen, and she sat down while he went around the island, washed his hands, and opened the fridge.
His furniture was simple, manly, but looked carefully chosen. The deep couch in soft neutrals complemented a rugged wooden coffee table and a worn surfboard mounted on the wall like art.
“You surf too?” she called over to him.
“No. Definitely not. It was left by the previous owner, and I didn’t know what to put there, so I left it.”
She twisted around to see him. The kitchen was small, but neat and efficient, with open shelving and a few vintage touches that revealed his occupation: a French press, handmade pottery mugs hanging from hooks, and a collection of spices intentionally arranged.
It seemed he lived there with purpose, as if he found peace in order. She could totally relate.
Patrick brought over her glass, then sat across from her with his own. “I’ve got shrimp, oysters, flounder, crab, or steak,” he said. “What sounds good to you?”
“Surprise me,” she replied.
“All right.” He got back up and handed her the TV remote. “Make yourself comfortable.”
She set the remote on the coffee table, stood up, and followed him into the kitchen, taking a seat across from him on a wooden barstool.
A glimmer of fondness shone in his eyes, and he quickly turned away, pulling covered containers out of the fridge.
He worked quietly, as usual, busy with the cooking tasks.
“We’re having crab cakes,” he said, greasing a cast-iron pan and then chopping parsley on a wooden cutting board.
The small kitchen filled quickly with the scent of Old Bay and salty butter as he moved between the narrow counter and the stovetop. There was barely enough room for the mixing bowl, but he managed with precision, gently folding lump crab, breadcrumbs, filling, and the parsley with practiced hands.
The skillet hissed as the first crab cake hit the oil, golden edges forming almost instantly in the hot pan.
Steam rose while he flipped each cake with care, mindful not to break their delicate shape.
He turned down the heat and whipped together a vinaigrette before tossing some salad fixings together.
He combined the vegetables with the dressing and plated them.
Then he slid the spatula under each crab cake, adding it to their plates.
“Here you go.” Patrick gestured to the bistro-sized dining set against the wall by the window and then brought their dishes over.
Emily followed him to the table.
Once she was settled, she tucked into her meal.
The crab meat was seasoned just enough to enhance the flavor without overpowering it, with a fresh touch from seasonal herbs.
The texture was crispy, and only after her first bite did she notice the hint of a tangy contrast to the sweet, buttery flavor of the crab from a sauce he’d hidden under the cake.
“I can’t imagine being able to cook like this for every meal,” she said, still delighting in the dish.
“Well, I don’t usually. After cooking all day, most of the time I heat up a frozen pizza, if I’m lucky.”
“But you’re so talented. You don’t treat yourself?”
“I only cook at home when I have someone to cook for. Which is rare, apart from Julia and Winston.” He shook his head. “Speaking of cooking, he wants me to make homemade dog treats for Stormy. Dog food isn’t in my repertoire. I’ll have to look online for a recipe.”
“I’d love to help you now if you have time.”
“Do you have time?”
“I’m free until this evening. Sienna revealed the news to her husband Tyson that she’s expecting, so we’re celebrating tonight.”
“Sounds better than my evening. I have to help my sister and Winston rearrange his bedroom for Stormy’s crate.”
“They got him a crate?”
“Yeah, no one’s claimed him yet, so he needs somewhere to stay. I’ve got to unload Winston’s giant bookshelf and get it to the other side of the room. But don’t worry. I’ve already planned to bring dinner for you all. I’m preparing for six.”
“Do we need to pay you for the additional people?”
“No, no. Don’t worry about it. With the storm, you all won’t eat unless I cook for everyone, and I’ve got tons of food between my private client stock and the early orders I’ve made for the restaurant. Do you want anything special for the celebration?”
“Please don’t feel like you have to do all that. I think Sienna’s more excited to sit back and relax than she is to have a big spread of food.”
“I’ll see what I’ve got and maybe I can whip up something extra.”
Emily nodded, wondering how the night would go with both Patrick and Will there. It was unbelievable that Will had shown up and crashed her vacation. Trying not to let it put a damper on today, she scooped up a forkful of salad and took a bite.
After lunch, she and Patrick looked online for dog treat ideas. Emily came across simple homemade peanut butter treats and decided it would be the perfect recipe.
“I’ve got all those ingredients: whole wheat flour, oats, peanut butter, eggs, and water.” He went over to his pantry and pulled everything out, setting it on the counter. With a click of a few buttons, he preheated the oven and then eyed the screen of his laptop.
“I think we should add a banana and pumpkin puree.”
“You’re the boss,” she said. She grabbed the bowl he’d set out and read the directions on the screen. “In a large bowl, combine peanut butter, flour, oats, and egg. Stir to combine.”
While he cracked the egg on the side of the dish, she measured the other ingredients.
“You should always crack your eggs first, so if there’s anything wrong with them, you don’t ruin your flour,” he said.
She squinted at him. “Are you…chatting?” she teased.
The corners of his mouth twitched. He offered her a large spoon.
“I like it when you make conversation,” she said.
“I could guess you’d like chatter.”
“Why?” she asked suspiciously.
“Because you always want to talk when I’m cooking.”
“And look at where it got me—in your kitchen, making dog treats. I’ll bet you didn’t see that coming when we met.”
A grin emerged. “Is that what you were trying to do that day—get into my kitchen?”
Heat rushed over her cheeks. “No. I was just being friendly. What I meant was that if you actually talk to more people, you might find that they’re enjoyable and your life might look different.”
“It definitely does look different,” he said, his voice slow and soft.
She liked his attention. Even when they were dating, Will didn’t flirt with her like this. There was something both youthful and yet very adult about the look in Patrick’s eyes.
“Good,” she finally said, her heart pattering.
With a soft chuckle, Patrick rooted around in a drawer and took out a circular cookie cutter and a wooden rolling pin. “This is all I’ve got. I’m not a baker.” He handed her the cookie cutter.
“That’ll do,” she said.
Mixing the dough turned out to be easier than she’d expected.
And the peanut butter gave off a warm, nutty aroma, which made her want to nibble it from the wooden spoon.
She went over to the laptop. “Slowly add water, a tablespoon at a time, until the dough holds together but isn’t sticky,” she read.
Patrick chuckled as he filled a measuring cup with water and handed it to her. While she added it in, he floured the counter.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, his slight smirk making her stomach do a little flip.
“You follow the recipe to the letter.”
“And? Why wouldn’t I? You’re the chef, not me.” Emily rolled the dough onto the dusted surface and used the cookie cutter to press out each treat.
Patrick lined them neatly on a baking sheet. “Cooking isn’t about getting perfect amounts. You can improvise for taste. The unexpected brings more flavor most of the time.”
“Yeah, but I might get it wrong and ruin it.”
“I don’t think you could ruin it.”
What happened with Will and the way she’d happily planned her life, missing all the signs flashed through her mind. “You’d be surprised.”
His head tilted slightly. “Are we still talking about cooking?”
“Maybe… Maybe not.”
“Wanna let me in on your thoughts?” he asked.
They hadn’t known each other long enough for her to start spouting her flaws. What if she turned him off too?
“Tell me,” he encouraged her.
“I’ve wondered if I was lacking in something that caused my ex to stray. Was it something with me? Maybe I wasn’t exciting enough, interesting enough.”
“I’m willing to guess that you’re the same person he proposed to, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then it wasn’t you.”
She leaned against the counter. “When he left me, I realized I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did. And now, when I look at him, I don’t feel the same way for him. Could the same have happened to him?”
“I’m willing to bet that your feelings for him changed because of his actions. They revealed to you who he was—a side of him he hadn’t shown you before. Maybe he always would’ve strayed. I don’t know him so I can’t say.”
There was a tangible shift in the air, and she bit her lip. While Patrick made her feel better, she was probably ruining this lovely moment by ruminating on a relationship that wasn’t even worth the effort.
The click of a radio made her jump. She refocused on Patrick. He was twisting the volume up on a small radio next to the fridge.
“Let’s put you to the test. We’ll find out if you’re the issue,” he said.
“How?”
He took her hand, and her breath caught. Then he gave her a spin, both of them knocking into the cabinets in the small galley kitchen.
“Hang on. I can do better than that.” He led her into the living area and gave her another spin, his strong arm at her waist, making her laugh. He caught her, pulling her into him, the two of them staring into each other’s eyes. “Test one, you passed.”
“How did I pass?” she asked, breathless.
“You didn’t fight me off or anything. So you’re up for spontaneity. You were worried about that, right?”
She laughed. “You said ‘Test one.’ Is there another test?”
“You up for another?”
“Definitely.”
“All right. You asked for it.” He grabbed hold of her and threw her over his shoulder. Then he took off, flinging open the front door and running full speed toward the leaf pile. All of a sudden, they were both soaring through the air, landing with a puff of leaves all around them.
She giggled uncontrollably, still trying to catch her breath. “What was that testing?”
“You don’t mind getting messy.” He brushed a leaf from her hair, his finger trailing along her cheek. “You’re definitely not too formal.”
“Is there another test?” she asked, her heart drumming as she hoped he’d say yes.
His smile softened into seriousness. “You want the last test?”
“Mm hm.”
Slowly, he leaned down and licked his lips.
She held her breath.
“The last test,” he whispered, “is whether you’re a romantic.”
She willed her racing pulse to slow. “And how do we test that?” But she already knew the answer.
His lips hovered above hers, his breath tickling her skin. She closed her eyes and tipped her chin up slightly.
Then, suddenly, she was pulled to her feet.
“Yep. You passed.”
She swallowed, still trying to get her bearings. “Are you sure?”
“Yep. I could definitely tell.” He plucked a leaf off the back of her shirt. “We should probably go inside and see if the dog treats are ready.”
Stunned and confused, Emily followed Patrick into the house. Why hadn’t he kissed her? Wasn’t that what he was going to do? Had she wanted him to? Yes, she decided. So, what happened?
He checked the biscuits.
Maybe he was only trying to gauge her reaction. Or perhaps he overthought it, and worried it was too soon to make a move like that. They hadn’t known each other very long. She breathed into her hand and tried to smell her breath.
Patrick’s loud laugh pulled her from her thoughts. “It wasn’t you.” He laughed again.
He’d caught her checking her breath. How embarrassing.
“The last test was actually whether you wanted to go slowly or not.” He stepped toward her.
“Oh. I failed that one then.” She looked up at him, drinking in the lingering amusement on his face.
With another chuckle, he stepped closer, took her face in his strong hands, and gently, carefully pressed his lips to hers.
Everything faded, and it was just the two of them and the soft hum of the radio.
It was as if his touch had pressed the pause button on her thoughts, and all she could manage was the sensation of him.
All her questions about herself were answered at once.
She didn’t need to know anything more because, right now, this was enough.
He pulled back, fondness in his eyes. “You passed another test.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Are you irresistible? The answer is yes.”
The oven timer went off.
Patrick cleared his throat. “Yeah, it was definitely your ex’s fault,” he said under his breath.