Chapter 13
She wondered, though, if that kiss happened again, what his lips might taste like tonight.
And that’s as far as she would allow herself to think.
Sure, there was that voice in her head saying she was making a mistake.
That no good could come from this. Or at least not the good she was used to.
Not the routine, reliable kind of good. Hot, sexy, temporary good?
Yes. Make-her-moan good? Possibly. Something that left her smiling for days after? Definitely.
In the full-length mirror, she ran her hands down her cozy yet feminine autumn ensemble—deep burgundy, cropped, button-front cardigan, a mustard-yellow skirt that was a little too short for work, and opaque black tights that ran up her thighs.
She moved around the kitchen, trying to bleed off the nervous energy, opening windows, knowing how warm the kitchen could make the rest of the A-frame feel while in use. Max followed her with a curious glint in his eyes, especially when the field crickets chirped outside.
“Don’t go getting ideas, Mister,” she warned him with a waggle of her finger.
He crouched down and rolled over onto his back, big turquoise eyes staring up at her innocently.
“I don’t believe you, you rascal,” she told him.
A knock sounded at the door, and Cali slid through the kitchen in her stocking feet, a faint hum of anticipation running through her veins.
She opened the door, and the porch light bled around Ethan.
He looked soft and unreal, like a fever dream.
Bruised sky against his back, the last light flickering through amber oaks.
Sleeves pushed up. Hair damp from the chill.
He wore a gray-blue Henley, blue enough to match the dusk.
His arms cradled a pot stuffed with kitchen utensils, both hips hugged by bags of groceries.
“May I?” he said with a smirk.
“Oh, shit. Sorry. Yes. Come in.”
The cold air carried toward them, damp with the smell of woodsmoke and fallen leaves. Cali’s breath fogged as she exhaled. She moved aside, closed the door, and helped Ethan unpack after he set it all down on the countertop.
Her kitchen was narrow and old-fashioned, like a hallway with cabinets and equipment running along its sides. Far too small for both to be in it, their bodies knocking into each other clumsily.
Then Ethan spotted Max. His voice hitched up. “Hey, little guy!” He bent down, and although Max froze in place for a moment, Ethan extended a fist toward him, and the kitten happily plodded over. Ethan cradled Max in his arms as Cali unpacked the last utensil.
“You want me to get something started,” Cali offered, “while you two get reacquainted?”
“Nah.” He rubbed Max’s belly and a loud purr echoed up to the ceiling. “I poured you a glass of wine, by the sink.” He nodded his head in that direction. “Your only job tonight is to sit and relax.”
Cali didn’t want to admit how comforting that sounded.
After the build-up toward her case for Banned Books Week, she needed as few obligations as possible tonight.
Even her coworkers told her to take tomorrow off after she shared the good news.
She deserved it. They had the library covered.
Even if things slightly fell apart in her absence, she could put it back together come Wednesday.
She traipsed back to the kitchen and lifted the red wine glass to her lips and felt her muscles relax.
“It’s the same wine in the coq au vin,” Ethan said, nuzzling Max’s nose with his. “So it pairs well. Like a sensory bridge between appetizer and dinner.”
“Sensory bridge,” she murmured against her glass. “Fancy.”
He glanced over his shoulder and placed Max on the carpet.
“Oh, and I made you, like, a ‘charcuterie for one’ plate. In case you wanted to nibble beforehand.” He walked back to the fridge and handed her a plate she hadn’t even noticed him unpack in the chaos of bags, pots, and pans.
“This dish could take a while to simmer.”
She stared down at the paper plate, flowers printed along the rim. Thin-sliced prosciutto, a small handful of red grapes, brie cheese, and candied pecans stared back. She popped one of the grapes into her mouth and chewed. “How thoughtful of you.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow and tried to pull his gaze from her lips. “Have all the other men who’ve cooked for you failed to provide an appetizer?”
She shimmied past him and slipped onto one of the two chairs at the high-top table that overlooked her garden.
Her stocking feet dangled above the floor, and as she devoured a candied pecan, she was taken back to her childhood.
All the times when she felt taken care of in this kitchen, all the times someone else had to be in charge. “You are, indeed, the first.”
“First one with an appetizer?” he asked, somewhat astonished. The bacon on the stove began to pop and fizz. “Point one for me.”
“No,” she clarified, “first one to cook me dinner.”
“Well,” he said, running a thumb over his jaw, “that’s gotta be worth at least 10 points.”
“I’ll be sure to add it to your scorecard at the end of the night.”
Ethan navigated her tiny kitchen like he’d lived there for years, sleeves rolled, forearms flexing, the scent of wine and garlic filling the whole room.
She smiled at him, the warmth from the oven curling through the air between them.
She felt completely relaxed watching him in the moment.
Still, her heart seemed to skip a beat when Ethan approached her with a fork pierced through a tiny portion of bacon, his hand cupped underneath.
“I’ll need a taste-tester. You up for the task?”
She faked a whine. “I thought you said my only job was to relax.” But she put down the charcuterie plate and opened her mouth just wide enough for him to slip the bacon between her lips.
When she bit down, a savory crisp and flash of juicy, smoky flavor filled her cheeks.
She leaned back and covered her mouth as she chewed.
His fork still hovered between them. “What on earth did you do to that bacon?”
His face fell. “Something wrong?”
“God, no. It’s the best bacon I’ve ever had. Are you sure you didn’t buy, like, unicorn meat?”
One of those devastating, eye-wrinkling grins broke across his face. “Add those points to the scorecard, too, then.”
He returned to the stove, still grinning from ear to ear, and let Cali sip on her wine.
After a while she asked, “How long does it take to simmer?”
“You that hungry?”
“Not exactly.” She looked down at her plate and noticed she’d already plowed through everything but the brie and a couple of the pecans. “Just pacing myself.”
“Well, it’s really just a chicken and wine stew. But it takes a lot of patience. Once everything’s browned and in the pot, it needs to simmer low and slow—about an hour, give or take. That’s where the magic happens.”
She snorted into her wine glass. “You make it sound so … Food Network.” Her nose crinkled. “Sorry.”
“No, don’t be. I take that as a compliment.” His eyebrows lifted. “But it’s clear we’re going to have to find something to occupy you while I cook. How about Word Trap?”
“No idea what that is,” Cali confessed.
Ethan wiped his hands on his apron—another of the many things he brought along with him—and grabbed the bottle of pinot noir to top off her glass. “We agree on a word, and if you or I say that word at any point for the rest of the night, we have to drink.”
Cali’s eyes grew wide. “The whole glass?!”
Ethan frowned and shook his head. “Hell no. I don’t want to be remembered as the guy who came to cook you coq au vin only to make you vomit before you even tried it. No,” he insisted. “A sip. You must take a nice, healthy sip if you say the word. That’s all.”
She eyed him skeptically. “What’s with you and games? Just like when we were at the fall festival. Now you want to see me beat you at a drinking game, too.”
He scoffed. “Okay. Then beat me.”
She took a sip of her wine, confident she’d win even though she was already in the lead on drinking tonight. Words were her specialty. Ethan didn’t stand a chance.
“Okay, what word?” she asked. “Make it a good one.”
Ethan glanced over at Max, curled up on a rocking chair several feet away from them. “How about ‘cat’? Neither of us can say the word ‘cat’ without drinking for it. Deal?”
This … would be tough. Sometimes cats were all Cali could talk about.
Especially now that Max was in her life, she could see herself slipping up on this one easily.
“It’s a challenge,” she said. “But deal. I’m still suspicious this is your way of making sure we end up talking about football or something. ”
He laughed but didn’t deny anything. They shook on it, then Ethan meandered to the counter to pour himself a full glass of wine, too. “Okay, Jacobs. Since I picked the word, you get to start. Ask me anything.”
Cali bit her lip as she thought. So many places to start. “Tell me about Catsby,” she landed on.
Ethan froze mid-stir. “Ah-ha!”
“Nope. Doesn’t count,” she shot back. “That’s a name. Like Max. I can ask about your—” She stopped herself just in time. “—pet.”
“Mm hmm.” He smirked. “You were this close to losing already.”
She scoffed. “Fine. Tell me about when you first got … her.”
“You mean the cat?” he said deliberately. He lifted his glass to his lips and sipped.
“That’s cheating.”
“It’s hydration,” he said, deadpan. “Okay, okay. I promise I’ll behave.
” He cleared his throat. “Well, let’s see.
She just … showed up. I wasn’t looking for a pet.
She was stuck in the rafters of a half-built community home outside of Chicago.
Took me, an apprentice, and one very annoyed foreman an hour and a can of tuna to get her down.
Foreman said if I was that determined, she was my responsibility.
So I took her home, bought her a sparkly collar.
And she repaid me with Gatsby-level partying at 3 a.m., curtain-climbing and chaos included. ”