27. Rose #2
And there it is, the question I was hoping he wouldn’t ask.
But I did kind of offer that information up for grabs with my comment about preferring other flowers to my literal namesake.
Okay, truth time. I just hate being vulnerable with strangers or anyone really, and I’ve only ever told one other person the reason…
and he and I aren’t on the best terms currently.
I’ll act like it doesn’t bother me, and hopefully, we can move on from this topic.
Taking a sip of the wine I just poured, I let out the breath I’ve been holding and raise my head to meet Dante’s eyes that are trained on me, patiently waiting for my response.
“Not many people know this about me, but I was raised in foster care. I was left on the front step of a church wrapped in a blanket, and a single red rose was left with me. So the priest who found me and contacted child protective services named me Rose. I’m sure he thought it might give me a connection to whoever left me, but in reality, it is a daily reminder that my parents didn’t want me.
That’s why I prefer to go by Ro instead of Rose.
While I like roses as a flower, having it as my name is a constant reminder of being abandoned. ”
“Did you know the rose is the state flower of New York? It symbolizes love, passion, and beauty. It’s said to be able to thrive in New York’s climatic conditions, which is why it was chosen as the state flower.
Maybe that priest chose to name you Rose, not because of the actual flower left with you, but because he knew you would not only survive but thrive in ever-changing environments.
Not to mention your beauty. Now do you see why I prefer to call you Rose? ”
Blushing a bit, I try to ignore him blatantly calling me beautiful.
“I…I guess I never thought of it like that. I used to want to find that priest and talk to him about that day to see if he had any more information on who dropped me off because there was never anything in my file. But as I got older, I decided that if my family didn’t want me, then they don’t get to know me now.
” I don’t know what it is about Dante, but I feel like I could tell him anything without him judging me.
“What if someone from your family did reach out to you and wanted to reconnect?” Dante sounds almost hesitant as he asks.
“If they haven’t reached out by now, I doubt anyone ever will.” I try to keep the hurt out of my voice. I shouldn’t still be affected by this all these years later, but being abandoned as a child really gave me some lasting trauma.
“But if they did?”
“I honestly don’t know. My initial reaction is to say I would meet them out of obligation or at minimum to get answers to the big why behind giving me up.
But in reality, I think at this point it’s too little too late.
Plus, who even knows if I have any family out there.
Maybe that’s why I was left at that church. ”
“Thank you for sharing that with me. I’m sure it can’t be easy to discuss your past with a stranger.”
“Dante, we are hardly strangers at this point. I’ve slept in your bed, and now you are cooking me a meal. A meal that smells delicious by the way.” It’s a poor attempt to divert the conversation to something less heavy and intense, but I think Dante is just as thankful for the transition.
“How is the wine?” Dante accepts my conversation transition offer with ease.
“I detect notes of black cherries and cloves,” I respond in my most sophisticated sommelier impression. God, why am I so weird around this man?
“You must have a very…discerning palate.” I hear a playful flirtation in his voice accompanied by his signature eyebrow quirk.
“Some might even say I am a connoisseur of the finer things,” I add in a mock posh accent that all snobby rich people have seemed to have mastered.
“In that case, would you taste the sauce and see if it needs anything? I want it to be perfect for our first meal together in my new kitchen.” Dante leans across the island toward me with a spoon in his right hand and his left hand underneath to catch any sauce from spilling.
Is he really about to feed me? Like in my mouth?
I mean obviously in my mouth. Where else would he feed me something?
Gah! Ro! Maybe I should just grab the spoon from him?
Or is that more awkward? Have I blinked since he asked me?
Do I even remember the question? Taste sauce… from spoon…Don’t make eye contact.
“Um, sure. It smells great, so I’m sure it tastes amazing.
” I lean forward as Dante moves the spoon closer to my mouth.
I pause briefly, and my eyes drift up to meet Dante’s as my lips part to sample his creation.
As I close my mouth around the spoon, I hear Dante let out a soft hum.
Or is that just me moaning from the flavors I’m currently experiencing?
I can’t even tell! Wow, this might be the best bolognese I’ve ever had, and I’ve made it my mission to try as many Italian restaurants in the city to get my fix.
Before I can open my mouth to let Dante know his sauce is literal perfection, he pulls his hand back with the spoon in it and then puts the spoon in his own mouth!
The spoon that was just in my mouth! He lets out another audible hum of appreciation.
Before I can pick my jaw up from the floor to say…something, Dante speaks.
“Mmm, perfect. Just like I knew it would be.” And then he goes back to stirring the sauce like that didn’t just happen.
How am I going to make it through the rest of the night when we haven’t even started eating?
Instead of responding, I decide to make myself useful and set the table, especially since I haven’t shown Dante where anything is yet.
I grab two bowls from the cabinet and then two sets of gold utensils.
I make sure to use the place settings that arrived today to protect the beautiful black walnut and resin table that is the centerpiece of the dining room.
The rest of dinner goes by without any other charged moments, and I’m starting to feel more relaxed around Dante with the conversation since I’m keeping it firmly on the progress of the rest of the house.
By my estimates, most of the main level should be complete in a few weeks, if not sooner, and then only his primary bedroom will remain since several of the furniture pieces have been on backorder.
Dante lets me keep the conversation about work, even though I can tell something is on his mind.
Once I am stuffed full of pasta and garlic bread, I stand and start to gather the dishes.
Dante has been finished for a while now and has just been sipping on his wine and listening to me jabber on, so I don’t want to continue to overstay my welcome. First dishes, and then I’m out of here.
“What are you doing?” Dante questions with the glass of wine halfway to his mouth.
“I told you I was going to do the dishes.”
“There is no rush. You haven’t finished your wine yet.”
“I think I’ve had enough. I don’t think I could fit another drop in my stomach. Dinner was delicious. Thank you again for cooking. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a very long time.”
I continue to gather mine and Dante’s bowls and silverware, and I can tell he wants to say something or object at the very least, but he holds his tongue.
After transferring the remaining sauce and pasta into glass Tupperware containers and placing the leftovers in the fridge, I move on to the dishes.
Thankfully, the bowls and silverware can go in the dishwasher, but the pans and wineglasses will need to be washed by hand.
I don’t even know the last time I had to wash something by hand.
I am a takeout queen and rarely use fancy glasses at home for drinks because I don’t want to have to hand-wash them.
I can feel Dante hovering in the kitchen as I’m filling the sink and starting to wash everything.
“If you have work to do, I don’t mind cleaning up everything before I leave.”
“I’m done with work for the day.”
“Oh okay, well, feel free to do whatever you would be doing if I wasn’t in your space. This shouldn’t take me long.”