18. Nothing Less than Everything
18
Foster
It’s been hell, keeping my hands off Hadley all week. That single taste I had of her is nowhere near enough. Add to that the pretty blush she’s been wearing on her cheeks every time I’ve seen her, and I’m desperate to kiss her again.
Yeah. The whole “she’s off-limits” thing went straight to hell faster than I could’ve predicted. I want her. She wants me. I intend to give us both what we want, but I need to do this the right way.
I’ve managed to stick to the plan, keeping my distance until I’ve had the chance to take her on a date. Like she deserves.
I need her to trust me completely if I’m going to be her first, and the only way to get that trust is to earn it. I have to let her get to know me better while I learn everything I can about her. She needs to be sure she wants me for me, not just because she feels attracted to me. I have to make sure she doesn’t regret anything we do together.
And planning this date for her has been the first step.
The time has finally arrived, and I’m waiting at the bottom of the stairs for her to come down. I’m uncharacteristically anxious. I haven’t felt this nervous in a long time, and I don’t totally hate it. It’s exciting.
I hear footsteps, and I look up just in time to see her as she appears at the top of the staircase. I stop breathing, the wind knocked out of me completely as she descends.
Her hair is up again, this time in a stylish twist at the back of her head. Her long, graceful neck is bare to my gaze, as are the top swells of her breasts over a white, rockabilly-style dress with a tight bodice and a full skirt.
She pats at her hair, her fire-engine red fingernails a stark contrast to the blonde locks. My gaze travels down the length of her, noting the same color on her toenails peeking out from her high-heeled sandals.
I still haven’t taken a breath by the time she hits the bottom step, and my face must be turning blue because she looks at me with concern in those big gray eyes.
“Foster. Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
I open my mouth and suck in a ragged breath as I take her hand and lift it. Pressing a light kiss to her knuckles, I look at her from beneath my lashes and say, “You take my breath away.”
“Oh,” she says, blushing as she smooths a hand down her dress. “I look okay, then?”
“Okay?” I scoff. “You look absolutely gorgeous, and far too good for what I have planned.”
Panic sets in, and my mind scrambles, trying to think of an alternate plan. It’s too late to make a reservation at a nice restaurant. We’d have to drive to Branston and wait for a table, which could put dinner hours out.
“What’s that smell?” she asks, breaking me out of my chaotic thoughts.
I blow out a breath and lead her into the dining room. Her eyes light up as she gets her first glimpse of the romantic setting I put together in here.
“I’m sorry, Hadley,” I say softly.
Her head snaps toward me. “Sorry for what?”
“I wanted to cook for you, and I thought having dinner in was a great idea.” I pick up her hand and let my gaze rove over her again. “But you look amazing, and now I feel bad. I should’ve just made a reservation.”
“You cooked for me?” she asks, her voice filled with wonder. Then she looks back at the table with its white tablecloth, matching candles, dishes, and napkins. The vase of deep purple roses is the only spot of color in the room. “And you set all this up?”
“I did,” I say, my voice deep with regret.
“I love it,” she says, throwing her arms around my neck and pressing her lips to my cheek.
My arms snake around her waist automatically, holding her against me.
“Are you sure?” I whisper against her neck.
She pulls back and meets my gaze. “I’m positive. This is all so amazing.”
I can’t help myself. Tightening my grip around her, I press my mouth to hers in a quick, hard kiss. A purring moan vibrates in her chest at the contact, and I smile against her lips before pulling away. Taking her hand, I lead her to her chair and hold it as she slides into it.
“Seriously,” she says after I push her chair in, “what did you make? It smells divine.”
“Lamb chops with a mustard thyme sauce, an arugula salad, and mushroom risotto.”
“What? How?”
She looks truly perplexed, her expression tinged with surprise and a little suspicion. I laugh as I pluck the bottle of wine from the bucket I’d placed on a small table in the corner.
“I prepped everything at Miles and Roxy’s place, then brought it here and started cooking as soon as you went up to get ready.” As I fill her wine glass, I ask, “Are you sure you’re not disappointed? We can still go out if you want.”
“Absolutely not,” she says, picking up her glass and taking a dainty sip. “I can’t wait to try everything.”
I give her a nod, then tell her not to move as I head into the kitchen with our plates in hand. The chops have been resting on the counter since I pulled them out of the oven, and everything else is ready, so I plate up the food, making sure it looks as tantalizing as it smells. When I head back into the dining room and set Hadley’s plate in front of her, her eyes widen with wonder.
“You really made all this, yourself?” she asks.
I give her a nod and take my seat. “I’ve always enjoyed cooking. I actually majored in culinary arts in college.”
She pauses with a bite of lamb halfway to her mouth. “You did?”
“I did,” I say with a smile. “I can’t play football forever. And I have no desire to become a sports analyst or a television personality when it’s all over. I thought I’d get a job as a chef. Or maybe even open my own restaurant.”
“Wow. That’s amazing,” she says, then slides the fork laden with tender meat between her lips.
I watch her face as the flavors burst on her tongue. Her eyes roll back for a second and she groans, the sound shooting from my eardrums straight to my cock. She blinks several times as she chews, then her gaze lands on me.
“Fuck, Foster. This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”
She seems to catch the sexual connotation of her words as soon as they pass her lips, because her face lights up in that beautiful blush I love so much. Shifting in my chair to relieve the pressure building in my pants, I give her a warm smile.
“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”
“Like it?” she says, recovering quickly from her embarrassment. “I love it.”
She tries the risotto and immediately makes the same erotic noise she made with the lamb. Without saying a word, she stabs a bite of the salad and eats it, then shakes her head.
“Your restaurant is going to be packed every night of the week.”
The surety in her voice warms me all over. She says the words like they’re already fact, a foregone conclusion that I have no choice but to be a success.
God, I like her so much.
We eat in silence for a few moments, then Hadley cocks her head to study me. “You know, I assumed you’d go into construction, or maybe be an architect when you retire.”
“Really?” I ask, taking a sip of my wine.
“You’re building your own house, and you moved here to oversee the construction. You’re obviously handy with the way you fixed the toilet.”
I shrug. “I spent my summers as a kid helping my uncle. He’s a builder, and he taught me the ropes. I enjoyed it, but it was never my passion.”
I push away the shroud of darkness that tries to consume me at the mention of those summers. There was a reason I begged to stay with my uncle during school breaks, and it wasn’t because I enjoyed working on construction sites.
This isn’t the time or the place to fall down the rabbit hole of my dysfunctional upbringing.
“I went to the community college in Branston with Tessa when we graduated high school,” she says as if she sensed I needed a change of topic. “I took my generals and a few business courses with plans to transfer to a four-year school to get my degree.”
“You never went?” I ask before taking a bite of my risotto.
She shakes her head. “My grandmother passed away and left me this place. She knew I loved it and wanted me to have it. I moved in immediately and started the bed and breakfast. I had a working knowledge of business management by that point, and I didn’t want to wait.”
“Do your parents live nearby?” I ask. “Any siblings?”
She’s mentioned her grandmother a couple of times, but never any other family members. I immediately regret opening the line of questioning. Asking her about her family allows her to ask about mine.
“No siblings,” she says with a hint of sadness in her voice. “And my dad was never in the picture. My mom raised me alone––with the help of my grandmother. She died when I was twenty-three. Cancer.”
“I’m sorry, Hadley,” I say softly, and she seems to shake off her melancholy before giving me a smile.
“Thank you. It’s okay. It’s been a few years, and while it still hurts, I’ve made peace with her death. She gave me a great life, and I won’t sully that by being bitter about things neither of us could control.”
“You’re amazing,” I breathe, the words slipping out unintentionally.
She dips her head to hide her blush, and I clear my throat before refocusing on my meal. We chat comfortably as we eat, and I refill both our wine glasses when Hadley finishes her first. A sense of comfort and familiarity settles around us.
When she finishes her last bite of lamb, she sets her fork aside and leans back in her chair with her wine glass in-hand. Her lips curve upward, the bright smile making my breath hitch in my chest.
“That meal was divine, Foster. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I reply softly, dipping my head with the words.
We carry our plates into the kitchen, and Hadley helps me clean up, packing the leftovers into plastic, lidded containers while I load the dishwasher. When we finish, I take her hand and lead her into the living room. Her palm is warm against mine as I twine our fingers together. Picking up the remote for the ancient stereo system nestled on a shelf in the corner, I press a button. The soft slow song I queued up earlier begins to play through the speakers, and Hadley stutters out a nervous breath.
“May I have this dance?” I ask, tilting my head to meet her lowered gaze.
“Yes. Of course,” she says, and places her free hand on my shoulder as I pull her closer with the one I’m still holding.
I’ve never been much of a romantic, but this girl deserves nothing less than, well, everything.