Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Aaron
Paige is convinced that she’s going to cook for our date in a few hours. I offered—many, many times—to take her and Noah out to a very nice restaurant in the next town over. I even offered to hire a babysitter if that was what Paige wanted.
She insisted that, no matter how nice the restaurant was, it wouldn’t compare to what she had planned for us.
I’m still scared thinking about what this could be. I recently charged into a massive wildfire, burned both hands, and made it out alive. But the idea of Paige cooking for me sets my heart racing. My palms sweat.
The clock on the wall says that it’s almost time for me to go.
I have to do some kind of damage control in the evening. She said she wanted to cook at home, but she didn’t say that I couldn’t bring a dish to share.
I stop by the deli on the way over to her house, just a short walk off the main path.
“A tray of egg salad croissants,” I order at the counter.
The old man smiles and nods. He pulls a ready platter from beneath the counter in a chilled section. I pay and leave.
Dessert.
I double back to the deli to see if he has anything I could pass off as dessert. He raises two bushy eyebrows at me when I barrel back through the door.
“No refund on the egg salad croissants,” he warns.
“No, not that.” I laugh. “Do you sell dessert? Tonight’s kind of a special night. I’m not sure my girlfriend’s cooking skills are up to par. I just want to be prepared in case this is a disaster.”
“You’re the firefighter who has been seeing Paige,” he concludes with a chuckle.
“Guilty,” I admit, cursing how small this town is.
I didn’t even know that Paige shopped here at the deli, but I guess I should have assumed she did. It’s very close to her house.
“This is one of her favorites,” he says with a conspiratorial smile. “My tiramisu, made from my late wife’s traditional Italian recipe. You won’t find anything better in the entire state.”
I hand him the money, tell him to keep the change, and leave the deli feeling successful.
I was thriving in Crown Hill, making friends in all the right places and always discovering hidden gems. Now, I had authentic tiramisu in my hands—one of my mom’s favorites, too.
Whistling, I walk casually down the cracked concrete sidewalk to Paige’s house. I set the boxes of food down on the porch swing so that I can knock on the door.
I’m not prepared for the sight that greets me when the door swings open, though.
Paige is more dressed up than I’ve ever seen her. I genuinely thought she looked sexy in her scrubs at the hospital, but this?
She is wearing an emerald-green dress that ties at her small waist, and the low neckline draws more attention to her ample breasts. The fabric clings to her skin, highlighting every single soft curve. She’s showing off the very curves that she once found so repulsive.
Rather, that her date found so repulsive.
Maybe I’ve managed to change her mind.
Maybe I’ll have a chance to change her mind again tonight.
My eyes travel down to her hips, narrowing on her perfectly shaped calves. She’s wearing three-inch heels, closing the height gap between us in a way that I suddenly don’t mind. It puts her lips at just the right height for me to lean in.
I don’t say hello first. I go for the kiss like a man who’s been starved for weeks.
If the intensity of the first kiss surprises her, she says nothing. She kisses me back with abandon, heat building between us. I grip her hips and pull her flush against me. She moans when my cock pokes her thigh, an involuntary response to seeing her look like this.
My lips leave hers just for a moment to trail down her neck. I nip and trace my way to her exposed collarbone with my tongue. She lets out a little whimper and tilts her head to give me better access.
But then I hear it.
“Dada.”
I pull back from her in an instant, like cold water has been thrown on a raging fire. The oxygen has been sucked out of the room, and the blaze is no longer a threat.
I kneel down to greet Noah and his fluffy bunny. He looks up at me with a beaming smile, pure goodness and joy on his face. I kiss him on the forehead and stand up to gather the boxes.
“I brought a few things,” I announce, trying to make things feel normal again. I can put sex with Paige to the back of my mind for a little while.
“I told you I had it under control,” Paige protests, rushing to the kitchen.
“Just in case,” I say. “I picked up some tiramisu. My favorite.”
She whirls around to look at me. I give her an innocent expression and wait for her to finish her thought.
“How did you—?”
“I told you, I just decided to bring my favorite to share. Plus, the guy down at the deli says it’s the best in the state.”
She laughs at the mention of the deli. “He would know better than anyone that it’s my favorite. And he’s right. It’s way better than anything you can order in a restaurant in the next three towns. Not unless you want to go into the big city.”
She puts it in the refrigerator and turns a concentrated look on the stovetop. A long griddle spans two burners, glistening with butter on its nonstick surface. Two neat lines of circles span the griddle, and a plate of pancakes sits on the side.
“Sweet and savory,” she announces proudly. “You taught me how to do this, so I figured it was fitting.”
I come up behind her and put my hands on her hips. She lets me watch as she flips each pancake in the row, letting it stay until it turns golden brown. When the pancakes are ready, she walks away.
“Don’t worry,” I drawl. “The firefighter in me will turn off the burners.”
She turns back, embarrassed. A small laugh escapes her as she leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “I made the pancakes. I can’t do it all. Thanks, Captain.”
With the small dining table set, the three of us gather around—Noah in his highchair, Paige and me seated side by side. He’s across from me, but not so far that I can’t reach over and help feed him.
Paige watches me help him get set up with his pancakes—he only wants the sweet ones—and says nothing. She picks up a fork and picks at the pancakes in front of her. I notice that she doesn’t bite into them.
“Are they poisoned?”
“I’m just a little scared to try them,” she admits. “It’s the first meal I’ve ever made that didn’t come from a box.”
Ah, she wants me to be the guinea pig.
I’m brave enough for both of us. An unpalatable pancake is nothing compared to the raging fires I put out on a regular basis. I cut a huge bite of the traditional buttermilk, dip it in maple syrup, and chew.
Surprisingly, it tastes just like how I taught her.
“Nothing to be scared of,” I tease, swallowing and going for another bite. “You must have had a good teacher.”
“That’s not the only thing he taught me,” she murmurs, lifting her fork to her mouth. She chews and moans, realizing that she made food that is actually edible. “I actually did it.”
“Savor the moment,” I tell her, feeding Noah.
Paige eats with reckless abandon, loading up her plate with more pancakes than I thought she could reasonably eat. To be considerate, she grabs one of my egg salad croissants. I watch her eat with gusto, gaining satisfaction merely from being near her.
It’s been so long since I’ve been with her that I would have given anything even to have the scraps of her presence. I would do anything for her and Noah tonight.
“Tell me, if we weren’t having this date night, what would you eat?” I ask when she slows down enough for casual conversation.
“Hmmm.” She taps a finger on her chin and looks guiltily at the freezer. “My mom brought over a chicken and dumpling casserole a week ago. I should probably eat it before it’s freezer-burnt.”
“What I mean is, what other meals are in your repertoire?”
I’m not even the least bit surprised that she wouldn’t cook if she were here alone with Noah. Chicken nuggets and ketchup for him, maybe a granola bar for her.
“Believe it or not, I make homemade applesauce. Scrambled eggs. Coffee.”
“Ah, so all the basics,” I laugh.
I want to reach over and draw her into my lap so that I can feel her laughter reverberate through me. Instead, I settle for laying a hand over hers, a point of connection.
To prove that this is really happening right now.
Noah babbles from across the table, tired of being left out of our conversation. It’s hard to distinguish from a kid who hasn’t quite mastered “the wheels on the bus,” but some things are clear.
“Tirzoo!” He waves his spoon at the tempting tray.
“I think he’s trying to say that he wants dessert,” I say very solemnly. “He’s cleaned most of his plate.”
He still has one full pancake on the plate, but he’s played with it long enough that it’s basically mush in the syrup. I want to tell him to eat it and savor every moment, because it will be a long time before his mom cooks something this edible again, but I just babble back at him.
“Are you…” Paige stops clearing the tablet to watch us, amazed. I keep talking to Noah as if she hadn’t spoken. “Are you using baby talk to communicate with my son?”
“We have a good line of communication going. We would very much appreciate it if you didn’t judge us.”
My skin turns pink just a little at the thought of someone catching me like this—being vulnerable. Kids have a way of bringing out that tender side of me.
“Well, keep it up. Noah obviously adores you.”
She finishes clearing the table and then brings out dessert, having stacked the plates in the sink for later, where we’ll wash them together.
She sighs as soon as she opens the tiramisu container. It’s more like a moan, really. The sound does something to me deep inside, and I have to make a conscious effort to ignore my growing hard-on.
“Will you serve?” Paige asks innocently, handing me the silver spoon.
She has no idea how hard it will be for me to stand up like this, but I do. Even after adjusting myself inside my khakis, it’s impossible to hide.