Emma
Iglared at the offending chicken breast on my kitchen counter, wondering if the pitiful protein was salvageable. After I’d pounded the chicken into a strip thinner than a piece of paper, the meat tenderizer lay useless beside the cutting board, while the chicken barely hung on to life support. Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but the issue remained that I’d massacred the breast for the Cordon bleu instead of simply tenderizing it.
After washing my hands, I checked the recipe before flipping to one that called for thinly pounded chicken. Were cutlets a better choice than chicken stuffed with cheese and fancy pork? My wayward emotions could be a sign from above saying my first recipe choice made it seem like I was trying too hard to impress—but I was, right?
Miller should appreciate that I was willingly cooking with dairy—not that he’d ever complained about being subjected to vegan butter and almond milk.
Tonight, covertly disguised as a simple dinner, was my opportunity to talk to him. I didn’t want more convoluted kisses or partial confessions. Things needed to be spelled out plainly in black and white—no more shades of gray.
He’d put the idea of us out there the night we kissed, then made himself scarce to give me the time I craved to figure things out. At first, I shot down his declaration faster than Robin Hood with an arrow, but after talking with the girls and recovering from a massive hangover, I sorted my priorities.
All of my priorities.
Sure, I deflected when Miller first broached the subject of dating weeks ago, but the idea he planted remained behind, setting down roots somewhere south of my heart and blooming into vines and flowers that crept into my mind.
His actions were in direct conflict with his words. His words spoke of casual sex and no-strings fun, while his actions showed a deeply caring man who went out of his way to show me how he felt.
How could I not want more with someone like that?
How could I have been so blind upon realizing his behavior was more than likely a direct result of my constant reminders about us just remaining friends?
Shit.
A second piece of chicken had fallen under my heavy-handed tenderizing, and I rubbed the back of my hand across my brow before taking the bookmark from the chicken Cordon bleu—that meal was an epic failure. Perhaps the pork could be a garnish on the salad? Chicken cutlets with a light lemon caper sauce could work. My sides and dessert wouldn’t have to change, since the potatoes were already in the oven and carrots resting on the stovetop.
I searched the fridge for the ingredients as Minerva whined from her bed in the corner. Rolling my eyes, I washed my hands, cut one prosciutto slice into tiny pieces, and dropped them into her bowl. She stared at the offering as I organized the ingredients from the fridge.
“Don’t look at me like that, Missy,” I said, turning to see her still staring at the meat.
“It’s not the fancy stuff you’re used to, but you had duck for breakfast, and too much fatty meat is bad for your heart. Any more of your whining, and you’ll get only carrots for dinner.”
I’d be surprised if this cat had high emotional intelligence, but she still managed to look at me with casual cruelty despite the meat treat and the threat of vegetables.
Snarky beast.
After beating the remaining chicken into submission and letting it rest in the fridge, I retreated to the bedroom. I set my clothes on the chair beside my vanity and lay face down on the bed among the pillows. I pulled the comforter to my neck and sighed.
Perhaps a ten-minute power nap before my shower would set me to rights.
Minerva meowed, following me into the room and jumping to the edge of the bed.
“I know you know how to control the volume on that noise, so please, Minnie, let me close my eyes for a second.”
She meowed unhelpfully again, and I groaned, pulling the comforter higher until it stretched over my head.
“I mean it,” I growled beneath my goose-down barrier, hoping the firmness of my voice would convince Minerva to leave me in peace. “Ten minutes is not too much to ask for.”
My feline took the tone of voice to mean that now was the perfect time to launch herself from the end of the bed to my back with a yowl, causing me to shriek as she dug her nails into the soft comforter. The little needle claws barely grazed my skin, but I still propped my head up and wiggled my butt, hoping to discourage her from using my back as a scratching post.
I struggled beneath the fifteen-pound ball of fur, relieved when she finally hopped off. I then ripped the pillow from under my head and sat up, looking for the miscreant.
When I locked eyes with the pesky feline, she had the nerve to glare. “Minerva Cassiopeia of the Queen Anne Chunk. I don’t know what you plan on accomplishing with that rude interruption of my attempted nap, but—”
I cut myself off with a finger pointed in her direction, letting my annoyance deflate when all she did was tilt her head before walking out the door.
“Fine. Fine. I see your point. To the shower, I go.”
I needed the extra time anyway to pamper myself a bit more than normal, paying particular attention to shaving and conditioning my hair so it could be tamed into something resembling artful curls. If the conversation with Miller tonight led to other things, I needed to take a page out of his book and show him I’d made an effort.
On the second pass of strawberry-scented red gloss over my lips, a sharp knock startled me from my vanity, and I stood, smoothing the wrinkles from my green wrap dress. I pressed a hand to my stomach and adjusted the clip in my hair before turning toward the door and shaking my head.
Where had these nerves come from?
This was Miller—one of my best friends and a man I’d come to count on. The unexpected anxiety I felt had to be from overthinking every interaction we’d had since middle school, wondering when things shifted to this weird, ridiculous limbo. Sighing, I shook my head, rolling my eyes as a curl escaped the clip that held them away from my face.
Schooling my features in the hopes that he wouldn’t see my frazzled and exposed nerves, I opened the door to find him leaning against the frame with one leg crossed over the other.
His hands were behind his back, and as he quirked one eyebrow, he pulled a bottle of white wine from one hand. I smiled, shaking my head as he pushed off the doorframe and pulled a bottle of red wine from his other hand.
“Hey, babe. I wasn’t sure what we were doing for dinner, so I brought a selection for you.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking the white wine as he followed me inside and to the kitchen. “I thought I’d cook. Does chicken cutlets with a melon and prosciutto salad sound okay?”
“Okay? That sounds amazing. You’re not trying to butter me up just to give me bad news, are you?”
“What? No. Of course not,” I said, swallowing harshly as I took the chicken from the fridge. Miller chuckled, retrieving two wine glasses and a bottle opener from the drawer beside the sink. My eyes were unfocused as I stared at the main course, wondering if this was a big mistake. Would he think I was cooking this dinner only to let him down easy afterward?
No.
He had been brave enough to kiss me, so I could be brave enough to tell him I wanted more.
More kisses and touches. More of him around in the morning and more going to sleep with my head on his chest. Real dates where he held the door open for me and referred to me as his girlfriend. More of everything.
There wouldn’t be crazy proclamations of love or proposals, only the acceptance of my decision to very much want more.
Just thinking about Miller and love had my traitorous stomach fluttering, and I knew if things progressed the way I thought they would, a four-letter-word confession would not be far off.
“You sure about that? Your face is doing something weird.”
“What? No, it’s not. This is just my face,” I snapped, brandishing a knife from the drawer.
“Whoa, there, pretty lady,” he said, holding his hands up and grinning like a loon. His posture was relaxed, but the little lines around his eyes gave away the underlying tension between us.
“Oh. I’m sorry. This is weird, right? Please tell me you feel it, too.”
“Yeah.” He chuckled, popping the cork from the bottle and pouring a glass of wine. He handed it to me, letting our fingers brush before serving himself. Tingles followed where our fingers met, traveling across my hand and up my arm, only to rest someplace south of my heart. It felt of comfort and of home, pushing the nervousness away.
“Things are a little up in the air, aren’t they? But let’s have a nice dinner, then we’ll talk.”
“Right. Okay,” I said, taking a large sip of the wine before grabbing a small bowl from the cabinet next to the sink. Miller sank into one of the kitchen chairs as I worked, cracking the eggs, adding a bit of milk, and swirling some infused olive oil into a pan to be heated.
“Do you need help with anything?”
“No. No. All is well. The salad is made, and the potatoes are in the oven. All that’s left is cooking the chicken and making the sauce. How was your day?” I asked, breading several chicken cutlets and adding them to the hot pan.
“Oh, good. It’s the same old thing. Did I tell you that the showroom at TriVolt is finally complete? Simon and I are working on the last of the light fixtures. The response from walk-ins and current customers has been positive so far, and there’s one display in particular I know you’ll love.”
“Wonderful. I’d love to see it. Does your mom know?”
“Yeah. Of course. Do you remember the dinner she invited you to a little while back?”
“Hmm. The one where I had that fundraising event?”
“Either that or a date,” he said, swirling the Riesling in his glass before taking a sip.
“Doubtful,” I scoffed, using the tongs to flip the chicken before turning on the right rear burner and adding butter to the small saucepan. “I’d cancel for a work obligation, not a date. You know how much I love your family, Miller.”
He grimaced, his face smoothing to an impassive smirk, and shrugged. “Do you have any dates coming up?”
“Dates? You mean from the apps?” I parroted, adding capers and lemon to the saucepan. The first pieces of chicken looked mouthwatering, filling the kitchen with the scent of hot olive oil and lemons. My stomach made an uncomfortable gurgle, and I took my time breading three more cutlets before turning to Miller.
“Yes,” he said as if there had not been a several-minute bout of silence. “How many are you going on this week?”
Whoa. The aggravation rolling off Miller was a palpable force within the kitchen, and I laid down the tongs and switched the burner underneath the saucepan to low before I turned and crossed my arms.
“None. Not that it’s any of your business,” I said, arching a brow and waiting for him to contradict me. “Wait. That’s not true.”
“Oh, it’s not?”
“Nope. I have one set up for a work event next weekend, but I wanted to speak with you before confirming things,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
His handsome features were marred with irritation, which solidified any lingering doubts I had about his feelings. Perhaps this needed to happen before dinner—just a little something to diffuse the tension, letting Miller know where things were headed.
Perhaps throwing myself onto his lap and nuzzling his neck before passing him a note asking him to be my boyfriend was out of the question, but a chaste kiss on the cheek that implied more could be exactly what we needed to get this dinner back on track.
“Really? Of course you have a date. Why am I not surprised?”
I picked up the tongs and threw them into the sink, getting a small amount of satisfaction when Miller jumped at the loud noise it made.
“That’s uncalled for, and you know it.”
“You sure about that?” His voice held no malice, and I could see the unspoken question in his eyes as he waited for me to respond. Swallowing the anger that immediately bubbled to the surface, I bit back the insult on my tongue, instead allowing my eyes to follow the sharp edges of his face and then down to his plump, kissable lips. He took an audible breath and scrunched his eyebrows as his eyes darted to my lips and back again before his features settled partway between a smirk and a scowl.
“Am I sure?” I asked, taking a step toward him before throwing my hands in the air and retrieving my wine glass. “You infuriating man!”
I swallowed the rest of the glass before eyeing the bottle on the opposite edge of the kitchen table. Stalking toward it, I refilled my glass and then grudgingly topped off Miller’s as well. He mumbled his thanks as I swirled the wine before setting the glass on the counter beside the stove and pinning him with a glare that I hoped could rival his mother’s.
“I am one hundred percent sure, Miller, hence me saying nothing has been confirmed until the two of us talked. You know, I’m grateful you’ve given me time to sort some things out after you left the other night. I’m not going to point out how shitty that was, leaving me in that state with Court.”
“Oh? What state was that, Em?”
“You know,” I said, stepping forward to pop him on the shoulder before grabbing the tongs from the sink. The oil in the pan still bubbled, and I breaded the last two chicken cutlets and added a bit of flour to the simmering lemon sauce. “That kiss. As if I could have formed a rational thought after that. Ass.”
“Minx,” he said, winking as I flipped the chicken. “That was the entire point of the kiss, you know? To sweep you off your feet. To catch you off guard. Pick your poison, babe.”
“Yes, I figured as much. Good job on that front. The catching me off guard, I mean.”
“Well, I know you’ve always arrived at things in your own time.”
I hummed, turning off the stove after plating the chicken and removing the potatoes from the oven. As I took the melon balls from the fridge and he set the table, I thought maybe jumping into his arms and kissing him stupid wasn’t a half-bad idea.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right. The question of the hour is have you come to a pleasing conclusion?”
“I think so, and there is really only one logical answer.”
“Is that right?”
“Of course. I’m nothing if not rational.”
“And highly intelligent,” he said, winking.
“Why, thank you, kind sir.”
He smirked, pulling out my chair and gesturing for me to sit. As I did, putting my napkin on my lap and serving us both chicken, his phone made a high-pitched chirping noise. He took it from his pocket and swiped left before laying it face down on the table and focusing his attention back on me.
The gesture was not lost that he was, once again, showing me that I was a priority. Not answering his phone was such a touching, sweet gesture that my legs were pushing me off my chair to embrace him before my rational mind took over, and I sat down and stabbed a melon ball with my fork.
“You’re welcome, fair maiden,” he said as his phone chirped again.
He sliced through a chicken cutlet with his fork, still ignoring his phone, and moaned around the bite. Between the sluggishness from the wine and the conversation turning heavy, my rational mind had departed in favor of whispering that I was inexplicitly his and then kissing him as if he possessed my next breath.
My borderline lovey-dovey pornographic thoughts were interrupted by another chirp, and this time, Miller snatched the phone, his thumbs flying over the screen.
“I have to go, Em.”
“Why? What’s going on?” I asked, watching as he ran his fingers through his hair and sighed before standing and pushing his chair back in.
“I honestly don’t know. It’s something to do with Mom’s neighbor, Cam.”
“Right. Sure,” I said, disappointment rolling off me in waves as I stood, following him to the door. “We never got to talk though, did we?”
I whispered the words, dropping my gaze to the floor. The scent of sweet coffee enveloped me before I felt his hand on the back of my neck, twining into my hair.
“Maybe this is for the best. I don’t think I could bear it if you turn me down.”
“What?” I asked, looking up to see his dark eyes fixed on mine. “Don’t put words into my mouth. When did I give you that impression?”
“Don’t sweat it. Just take the easy out and we’ll forget about this. I’ll text you later.”
He swiftly kissed my forehead and opened the door, letting the evening warmth brush against my already hot skin. I shut the door behind him, barely noticing as Minerva rubbed against my legs. My limbs were heavy, and my palms tingled as I went back to the kitchen and collapsed into the chair, pulling the remainder of the wine and Miller’s unfinished food closer, wondering what the hell had just happened.