Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Roman
“This looks delicious, thank you.” Zena gestured towards the meal spread before us.
The moment she told me she was hungry, I became excited to cook for her.
It was the meal I had planned to make for myself tonight.
Usually, I’d eat the leftovers for lunch, but I’d happily eat peanut butter and jelly tomorrow if it meant Zena was my dinner guest.
The fried chicken cutlets came out golden brown, with my linguine al dente, and my canned tomato sauce I batch cooked bringing it all together.
I smiled at her from across the table. We sat at the dining room table, something I hadn’t done in a long time, and even lit the candles.
“You’re more than welcome. My grandma and I spent a lot of time in the kitchen together.
She taught me how to cook and showed me ways to really stretch a dollar.
Take tomato sauce, for instance. It’s so easy to make your own and so much cheaper and healthier than jarred sauce.
I make a big batch and freeze the jars. Same with my meatballs, making large batches and freezing them.
Then I pull out a jar and a bag, let it all defrost together on the stove. ”
“Your grandma sounds like a smart lady. My mom barely cooked. Not her fault, though. She worked a lot. We had the pizza delivery spot on speed dial.”
“Nothing wrong with a pizza.” I passed her the grated cheese before slicing into my chicken cutlet. “One of my favorites.”
“Do you make yours or order out?”
“A mix of both. But nothing beats making your own dough.”
Zena giggled and covered her mouth with her hand, her blue eyes dazzling from the candlelight. “I need to say this right now. I love you cook. Probably because I love to eat.”
“I love to eat, too.”
The conversation lulled as we dug into our food, the sounds of forks and knives against plates bouncing around the room.
“Did you grow up around here?” Zena asked.
“No. About fifty miles north of here. Still a small mountain town. Before my grandma adopted me, I moved around a lot, in and out of foster care. My parents lost custody of me when I was three.” I wasn’t the conversational type, but around her, it flowed, the words popping into my head easily.
Zena made it easy.
She listened. She smiled. She showed attentiveness. And she reached across the table and rested her hand on mine, giving it a gentle squeeze, letting me know she was there for me without judgement.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine how difficult it must’ve been.”
“I was so young I don’t remember much of the beginning, but what I remember wasn’t great. The day my grandma showed up and took me out of there was the best day of my life.”
“She saved you.” Zena said softly. The kindness in her eyes resonated within me and she drew me in even more.
I told her how I loved to read, and I started writing when I was young to escape the pain in my life.
I studied and worked hard and somehow got picked up but a publishing company straight out of college.
I was under contract, but I also wrote horror short stories I published myself.
My mysteries hit the best-seller lists, and I still enjoyed telling stories to this day.
I loved watching movies and keeping up with current events and the news.
Zena confessed she was obsessed with all the holidays and loved to decorate, plan and host parties, and she also enjoyed romance novels, especially those with a mix of thriller thrown in.
She drove here from the city and loved the small-town feel and always wondered what it would be like to live here.
“There isn’t much that beats a beautiful log cabin.” Zena mused as we finished our dinner.
“I agree. Especially when it’s snowing outside.” I gathered our plates before standing. “We should watch a Christmas movie. And bake those cookies.”
“Are you saying you have the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies?”
“My grandma said you’re supposed to always have chocolate chips.” I grinned. If I looked in the mirror right now, I wouldn’t recognize myself.
And I kind of liked it.
“She’s my type of gal. I need to meet her.”
My stomach dipped at the thought. That’s some serious territory right there. But I wanted it. All of it. “I’d like that.” I said while holding her gaze with mine.
We cleaned up dinner and whipped up a batch of cookie dough together, laughing and getting to know each other.
“Okay, name your favorite Christmas movies.” I said to her as I handed her the wet bowl to dry.
“Home Alone, Elf, and Love Actually.” Zena said as she set the now dry bowl in the open cabinet. “You?”
I handed her the last dish to dry as the timer to the oven buzzed, the cookies done.
“Definitely Home Alone, The Grinch, and Die Hard.” I pulled the pan from the oven and set the cookies on top.
All golden brown and melty chocolate, my mouth watered at the sight of the cookies I couldn’t wait to try.
Zena clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth before snorting loudly. “Die Hard is not a Christmas movie.”
My mouth fell open. “What? of course it is.”
“No, I don’t think so. Not a classic like the others we named or A Christmas Story or Santa Claus.”
“I’m not backing down.” I said with laughter in my voice. I scooped the cookies off the pan and onto a plate, handing one to her and one to me before walking to the living room together. “I watch it every year at Christmas. How about we watch A Christmas Story?”
“Sounds good to me. Haven’t seen it in a while.”
“Perfect. Me either.”
I placed the platter of cookies on the coffee table and sat on the couch, Zena sitting close, but not close enough. I grabbed the blanket and spread it across our laps. “If you want, I’ll keep you warm.”
“Listen, Roman…” Before she could say more, the whole cabin plunged into darkness.
“Shit, that’s not good.” I muttered.
“No, it’s not.” Zena said, her voice closer. “Because then things like this happen.”
A forbidden search, heated breaths, and hidden looks, when finally, finally, her lips landed on mine.
And down, down, down, we went.