Chapter 14 #2
“You’re right. Thank you, this has been amazing.” I reach over the table and take his hand.
Flint smiles, stroking the back of my palm.
“It really has. The best date I’ve had in a long time, maybe ever.
I almost don’t wanna let you go. If it were up to me, the date wouldn’t be ending like this.
” The insinuation of how he would like the date to end is clear, and I curl my toes imagining just how that might go.
“Next time,” I murmur, a promise.
Flint moves closer, leaning over, and kisses me gently. My eyes flutter closed, and I hold my breath, hopeful for more, but all too soon, he breaks the kiss. “Next time,” he promises, his voice thick with wanting.
I want him to kiss me again, to kiss me properly, but we both hold back, knowing that we wouldn’t be able to stop ourselves, and we’ve vowed to take things slowly.
***
My third and final date of the day is with Cyrus.
He told me to dress for dinner, so I assume we’re going to a restaurant.
Luckily, I had enough time to shower, wash my hair, and get dressed for our date without leaving Cyrus waiting for too long.
I opt for a simple black dress that makes my cleavage look impressive and skims over my hips and thighs in a simple yet flattering a-line.
I curl my long hair and wear it loose, putting on a little bit of makeup and a slick of lip gloss.
Overall, the effect is what I was aiming for—casual yet sexy.
Cyrus told me to meet him in the living room when I’m ready, so I head there.
The first thing I notice as I walk into the room is the rich smell of food cooking, the smell of freshly baked bread and garlic welcoming me.
The second thing is that Cyrus has lit dozens of candles, bathing the room in soft, romantic light.
He’s busy, hovering over the stove with his back to me, so he doesn’t hear me come in.
He’s wearing a smart shirt and slacks, tailored perfectly to the planes of his muscles.
I realize then that instead of going out to a restaurant as I anticipated, Cyrus has cooked dinner for me. It’s a thoughtful yet romantic gesture that touches me.
“Can I help?” I ask as I walk over to him.
He startles a little as I catch him off guard, whirling around to face me, a colander filled with freshly washed lettuce in his hands.
He breaks into a smile. “Hey, you. You look beautiful. I hope you’re not disappointed that we’ll be staying in for dinner.
I’m no chef, but I make a pretty mean spaghetti and meatballs. ”
“Not at all, it smells delicious. Is that homemade garlic bread?” I ask, spying the rising dough in the oven, which is filling the kitchen with an incredible smell.
He nods bashfully. “Yep, my nonna was Italian, everything had to be made from scratch, the noodles too,” he says, gesturing to a pasta maker. “I thought it could be fun if we made them together?”
“Sure, that sounds fun,” I agree.
I wash my hands in the sink, and then I listen as Cyrus patiently explains how to make the pasta noodles. My first few attempts are atrocious, and we laugh at my ineptitude.
“I hope you have some dried pasta spare, at this rate we’re either going hungry or eating thick, funny-shaped noodles,” I say in despair as I hold up my pathetic attempt.
“Don’t worry, everyone makes a few mistakes on their first try.
Soon you’ll be an expert, I’m sure,” he says confidently as he opens a bottle of wine.
“Want a glass?” I nod in agreement, too focused on my dough to risk speaking and breaking my concentration.
He pours us both one and takes a sip of his.
“Your nonna would probably tell you to date a nice Italian girl who is a noodle-making expert,” I grumble, only half joking.
“Not at all, Nonna would have loved you.” He moves behind me, helping me carefully feed the dough into the pasta maker.
I’m painfully aware of his proximity and have to force myself to focus on the task at hand instead of how warm his hands feel on mine, how good he smells.
“Though not that I would ever let my nonna hear us calling pasta noodles. That was an Americanism she couldn’t stand,” he adds with a wry chuckle and a slight shake of his head, lost in the memory.
Finally, I seem to get the hang of it, and he smiles in encouragement as they start to come out right. He turns to check on the sauce, the rich smell of tomatoes and basil filling the room as he takes off the lid. He brings me a spoonful of sauce to try.
I close my eyes and let out a moan of approval. “Mmm, that’s incredible. I’ve never tried such a delicious bolognese sauce before. Maybe one day you can share your secret recipe with me.”
“Nonna told me I could only share it with the girl I was going to marry,” he says.
His words carry weight, as if the notion of me being that girl isn’t out of the question.
I don’t know how to respond. I don’t want to dismiss it or offend him, but I also don’t want to seem too keen, like I’m desperate to marry him someday.
Technically, this is only our first date, after all.
Thankfully, he saves me from having to respond, no doubt awkwardly.
“What were your grandparents like?” he asks.
“I never knew my grandparents. I always wished I’d had them. I used to imagine as a kid that one day I would run away and live with my grandparents, and they’d be everything my father wasn’t. I’d play silly games, thinking of what they’d be like,” I admit, feeling a little foolish.
“That doesn’t sound silly to me at all. That sounds like a lonely kid with an active imagination. I’m pretty sure most kids would feel the same way.”
The conversation continues easily from this point, as usual, Cyrus is kind and understanding, thoughtfully listening and putting me at ease.
We chat about everything, from our childhoods to our favorite foods and hobbies.
I talk about my other dates, and he is happy, not jealous.
The food is, unsurprisingly, delicious, and I eat far more than I should.
He immediately shuts down my knee-jerk reaction to refuse dessert, insisting that I can treat myself once in a while and calling my father an asshole for making me think I was fat.
“You have a body most women would kill for, and all men find sexy, trust me,” he says, putting down the cheesecake in front of me.
“I made this too, so you’ll hurt my ego if you don’t try it,” he jokes.
“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” I reply, taking a bite. It’s amazing, and I find myself wolfing down a whole piece.
As he pours the last drop of wine into our glasses, I realize how late it is.
I presume the guys must be hiding out downstairs, giving us space for the night, since I haven’t heard them come home.
“How are you guys feeling now, about everything, about me?” I ask, trusting that Cyrus will be honest while sparing my feelings.
“Good. You were right to knock some sense into us. There’s no point in us dwelling on the past and making the same mistakes again. We all want this to work. We really like you, Tori. I really like you.”
“I really like you too,” I reply, closing the space between us and kissing him.
The kiss feels right. Different from the others, gentler, more tender, but just as good. I know that after today, I’m ready to take our relationship to the next level.