Chapter Twenty-Two Dinner
JULIAN
The grocery store is busy when we arrive. Hadley walks beside me, tucking her hands into the sleeves of her sweater as we move through the aisles.
“So,” she says, glancing at me. “What are you making?”
I shoot her a wink. “You’ll see.”
She grins up at me, leaning her forearm against the handle of the shopping cart as I carefully inspect a bunch of fresh rosemary, checking the leaves for color. “You’re kind of full of surprises, you know?”
I shrug, tossing the herbs into the cart as we move down the produce aisle. “Eh, not really. I honestly like to cook. You just have to dial in the exact balance…like picking up some fresh garlic and a splash of acid to cut the heavy fats. Do you cook?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Not really.”
“No interest, or…?” I trail off, raising an eyebrow as I reach for a bulb of garlic, tossing it in my hand to check its weight.
“Oh, that’s not really it,” she admits, her expression softening into something wistful as her gaze drifts to the colorful displays of vegetables.
“My grandmother tried, but I was more interested in eating what she made than learning how to make it myself. Then, she passed away, and…I lost my chance.”
I stop walking, my hand lingering on the handle of the cart. I glance over at her, the vulnerability in her voice striking a chord in my chest.
“Dad wasn’t exactly chomping at the bit to take over the lessons, either,” she adds, a dry, humorous edge returning to her voice as if trying to mask the pain underlying it. “Not that he can cook anyway. The man considers ordering takeout a major culinary achievement.”
I glance at her. “You serious?”
“Very.”
“Huh.” Why is that thought kind of…depressing?
“What?” she presses, stepping around the cart to look up at me when I’m silent for a few seconds too long.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
She groans and rolls her eyes. “Julian…”
“I’ll teach you,” I blurt just as we reach the meat counter at the back of the store.
She pauses, her eyes widening in surprise. A stray strand of hair escapes her ponytail, framing her flushing cheek. “You will?”
“Yeah.” My voice is steady, and there’s no hesitation.
The idea of teaching her to cook for herself has planted itself in my mind and sprouted roots, and now I’m determined to see it through.
A traitorous image flashes through my head of her leaning back against the kitchen counter in nothing but an apron, her slim legs wrapped around my waist as I pound into her, her mouth tasting like wine.
A wave of hot arousal crashes into me, making my throat go dry. The urge to close the small distance between us right here and now is almost overwhelming. Jesus, keep it together, Wilder.
A small smile pulls at her mouth. “Okay.”
My heart beats a little harder as I nod, trying like hell to shove the x-rated thoughts back into the gutter where they belong. “Okay.”
I quickly turn away from her to ask for chicken from the guy behind the meat counter, needing to put some physical distance between us before I make a complete fool of myself.
“Yeah, can I get two pounds of the organic chicken thighs, please?” I ask, way louder than necessary, desperately hoping the chill from the refrigerator cases will help cool the flush of heat staining my cheeks and soften the stiffening cock in my pants.
When we arrive at her apartment, we head straight for the kitchen, the brown paper bags of groceries heavy in our arms.
I set them down on the counter and reach for the chicken and fresh herbs. I set out everything in a straight line across the counter, then start organizing the ingredients in the order I’ll use them. Hadley is already right there beside me, digging into the second bag.
She pulls out the block of Parmesan and the heavy cream, her shoulder brushing against my bicep as she reaches past me to open the refrigerator door. The brief, unexpected friction sends a sharp jolt of heat straight down my spine, her clean, vanilla-and-ice scent filling my head.
“So what can I do?” she asks.
“You can start with this.” I hand her a knife and a bundle of herbs. “Cut that.”
She looks at it as if it might bite her. “Seriously?”
I chuckle. “Seriously.”
She glances back up at me with an uncertain expression. “I’m going to mess this up.”
“You’re not,” I assure her, grabbing a cutting board out for her.
“I definitely am,” she mumbles.
“If you do, then I’ll fix it.” I set the cutting board on the counter next to her.
She huffs out a breath, but moves to stand in front of it, setting the onion on top.
“Like this?” she asks, awkwardly positioning the knife.
“Not like that.” I move to stand behind her. “Here…”
I reach around her, adjusting her grip and guiding her hand.
I tell myself not to get too particular about the size of the cuts…
just focus on teaching her. It takes me a moment to realize how close we are.
Too close. Her back is pressed to my front, and my arms are wrapped around her.
I can smell the sweet scent of her hair, and I hear the shuddering breath she releases as she goes still for half a second before relaxing again.
“Okay,” she mutters. “I think I got it.”
I step back, putting distance between us, but it doesn’t really help me breathe any easier. “Great. Try again.”
She does. The chunks of onion she chops are uneven and rough, but when she’s done, she looks up at me, thrilled.
“See?” I grin. “Told you that you could do it.”
“And I didn’t lose a finger!” she exclaims with a laugh.
I laugh, shaking my head. “Way to set the bar high there, sweetheart.”
We end up eating at the kitchen island. I slide a wide ceramic bowl in front of her.
The steam rises up between us. I went with classic, pan-seared chicken thighs over a rich, velvety garlic-and-rosemary cream sauce, tossed with al dente fettuccine.
I even managed to get a nice, crispy golden crust on the chicken, garnished with a sprinkle of fresh parmesan.
It’s already starting to melt into the pasta.
Hadley leans forward, inhaling the rich, savory scent. “Oh my God, Julian. This looks like it came out of a five-star restaurant.”
“Taste it before you give me the Michelin star,” I smirk, leaning my forearms on the cool countertop as I watch her, a sudden spike of nervous anticipation tightening my chest.
She twists a generous mound of noodles onto her fork, making sure to get a piece of the chicken and a thick coating of the sauce, and slides it into her mouth.
Her eyes close. A low, soft moan of pure delight escapes the back of her throat. It’s a sound so uninhibited and inherently sensual that it hits me like a physical blow. My throat goes dry, my gaze locking onto the smooth column of her neck as she swallows.
“Wow,” she breathes, opening her eyes wide with genuine awe. “This is officially the best thing I've ever eaten. You're a wizard.”
A fierce wave of satisfaction ripples through me. “Told you," I smirk as I reach for my own fork. “Just stick with me, Hadley. I'll make sure you never have to eat takeout again.”
We eat in comfortable silence for a few moments before she speaks again.
“My mom would hate this,” she chuckles.
I glance over. “The food?”
“No, the staying in part,” she clarifies. “She’d be dragging me out somewhere right now. Wanting to go have a good time with lots of people and noise.”
I study her face, leaning my chin in my hand. “Do you like that scene?”
Hadley laughs, her shoulders dropping as she shakes her head. “Honestly? No. I’ve always been more of a homebody. I like my space, and I like the quiet. Mom is a force of nature, and I love her for it, but she can be…a lot. Sometimes I just want to breathe.”
“Sounds like it can be hard to keep up with,” I murmur, feeling a strange, comforting warmth settle in my chest at the easy way she opens up to me.
“Sometimes,” Hadley nods, but there’s no irritation in it. “She’s just…she’s always been kind of…everywhere.”
I tilt my head. “Everywhere how?”
“She travels a lot.” She shrugs, shifting her weight against the couch. “She’s not really the stay-in-one-place type. Never has been.”
“You see her much?”
“Sometimes. We talk on the phone a lot, but she doesn’t really live in one place for long, so it can get tricky to see her. She’s a total free spirit. She just…can’t stay still.”
She lowers her gaze to the island’s surface for a second before she continues, dropping her guard a little further.
“I know I wasn’t something my parents planned for.
They never really even dated. A short while after I was born, she realized she wasn’t built for the routine of a normal family life.
She wasn’t a planner, and my dad…well, he’s all structure and schedules.
So, she actually agreed to let him take full custody of me.
She knew she couldn’t give me the stability I needed. ”
I nod, but don’t interrupt her.
“I love her,” she hurries to assure me. “I really do. We’re close in our own way, and she’s a wonderful person. She just operates on a different frequency.”
“Still,” I murmur, leaning forward so she has to look at me. “It must have been hard. Growing up without her around as much, trying to navigate everything when she’s always a moving target. That’s a heavy thing for a kid to carry, Hadley.”
She nods and lets out a long sigh. “Yeah…it is…she’s fun, though.” A small smile pulls at her mouth. “Like, when she is around, there’s never a dull moment. She’ll pull last-minute plans, random trips, or drag me out to things I wouldn’t have picked on my own.”
“Sounds like chaos.”
“It is,” she agrees. “But it’s good chaos most of the time. She just…doesn’t stay.”
I don’t say anything right away and just let that sit for a bit.
“And your grandma?” I ask after at length.
Her whole expression softens.
“My dad’s mom. She was always there. She took care of me while Dad went through law school.
Once he realized in college that he wasn't going to get drafted to go pro, he flipped a switch and went full-throttle into law. Grandpa was there too, of course, but he was busy with coaching, so it was just me and Grandma a lot of the time. She encouraged me to skate when I was old enough, and I never doubted that she’d be there for me… until she wasn’t.”
“What happened?” I know Coach Sullivan is a widower, and has been for a while, but he never really talks about his late wife. I always got the sense it was too painful for him.
“She died when I was in middle school,” she whispers. “Heart attack just…out of the blue. No one saw it coming.”
Damn…that’s awful. I can’t imagine what I’d do if that happened to Mrs. Clay. It would flip my whole world upside down, and I’m not sure I’d ever be able to right it again.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her.
She gives me a small smile. “Thanks. It was a long time ago.” Then, clearly wanting to shift the conversation away from herself, she asks, “What about you? What’s your family like?”
The moment the word family leaves her mouth, a dark feeling washes over me.
My jaw tightens, the familiar, bitter tension coiling in my gut before I can stop it.
I pull my gaze away for a split second, staring down at the island.
When I manage to look back at Hadley, I see genuine curiosity and softness in her eyes.
The tension eases just enough for me to breathe.
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the cool surface, choosing to bypass my actual blood relatives entirely to dive straight into the one person who actually matters.
“I had Mrs. Clay for most of my childhood,” I explain in a rough voice. “She lived next door to me when I was growing up. She looked out for me when…when things at home weren’t so great.”
If she’s confused why I’m not talking about my actual family, she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she grins. “I like her already.”
“Yeah,” I nod, a small breath of a laugh slipping out. “Most people do.”
I swirl my fork through the last of the rich cream sauce before taking another bite. I chew slowly before setting the fork down with a quiet clink against the ceramic bowl.
“She’s the one who kept me in the game,” I continue, picking up my water glass and taking a sip. “I always had a talent for it, and I loved the sport, but…”
The word dies in my throat.
Thoughts of my father trigger a violent, unbidden rush of memory, the jagged edges of my nightmares bleeding into my waking world.
My jaw locks so hard my teeth ache. Beneath the edge of the table, my hands curl into tight, white-knuckled fists, my fingernails biting deep into my palms as I desperately fight to slam the heavy iron doors shut on the past before it completely swallows me whole.
Before the silence can stretch into a canyon, I feel a small, warm hand sliding directly over my clenched fist.
“She stepped in,” Hadley murmurs.
Her voice is a steady, gentle lifeline pulling me back from the brink.
When I finally force my gaze up to look at her, there is no pity in her eyes, no demanding curiosity, and absolutely no judgment.
There are no questions in her gaze, only a quiet understanding that tells me she already knows the blank spaces are filled with horrors, and she doesn't need me to bleed to prove it.
“Was she strict?” Hadley asks, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and empathy.
“Hell yeah, she was,” I admit, a smirk curling my lips. “She’d threaten to keep me out of the rink if I got anything less than a B.”
Hadley’s expression softens. “Wow. That’s pretty amazing.”
I nodded, warmth unfurling in my chest. I stand up, feeling the need to move, and start clearing away the plates. Hadley helps, and when we’re done, we move into the living room and turn on the TV. We find Good Will Hunting playing, and it becomes background noise as we focus back in on each other.