19. Diana
A smile flashes across Michael’s face, his green eyes dark and mischievous, while I smooth my now-wrinkled red satin skirt.
There’s no denying that I’ve just been kissed within an inch of my life—or how embarrassingly close I was to actually coming from it.
Old Diana would be mortified. But current Diana is starved and aching and feels so empty she wants to tell the whole world they’re going to have to wait because there’s something she needs to do before she gets back to it, and that thing is Michael Haynes.
“That was—”
“Everything,” he says, taking my face in his hands, and placing a soft kiss on my lips. “It was everything.” I look up at him, unable to help the goofy grin on my face. “But it’s clear this isn’t the time or the place to have this conversation.”
“No, it really isn’t,” I tell him, fisting his chef’s coat in both my hands. “But Jonathan did tell me to come talk to you.”
He snorts. “I don’t think this is what he meant by it, though.”
I chuckle and press my forehead to his chest, inhaling his scent—grapefruit and lemon, with a bit of smoke from whatever it is he’s been grilling in his test kitchen back there. “What do we do now?”
He wraps his arms around me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
“I think you go back out there with Jonathan and let me serve you both the best dinner of your lives—but you do it as friends.” I laugh once.
“He’s really cool, and what you see is what you get with him, so if he told you to come find me, well, then he meant it.
Just go out there and hang. I’ll join you soon and walk you both through the dishes.
Hopefully, he won’t be too upset about me stealing his date.
Pray he’s still considering investing in this.
” He sighs, but there isn’t a hint of regret in his voice; he wants this, too.
“After dinner’s done… Well, that’s up to you. ”
“What do you want?”
He’s quiet for a moment, pulling back to stare back at me, green eyes fierce with determination. “I want this, whatever it is. I want you to stay behind tonight so we can talk it out. And after we’re done figuring out what we’re going to do or not do…” He shrugs once. “I’ll drive you home.”
A slow smile plays on my lips. “Okay. Deal. But you better cook for your life, Michael Haynes. You don’t just have Jonathan Bloom to convince you’re the real deal. You’ve got to prove it to me, too.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he growls in my ear. “Believe me, by the end of the night there will be no doubt in your mind that there is no one better for you than me.”
And while I know he meant that to be sexy, no combination of words has ever terrified me more.
“There are no words for what tonight was. An out of body experience, maybe. Cosmic love. Utter, ethereal happiness?” Jonathan is on cloud nine after Michael served us well over fifteen courses of the most incredible food I’ve ever tried in my life.
The three of us laugh, standing in the middle of the farm’s driveway, the breeze cooling the night air.
“I agree. I didn’t know you were so good,” I tell Michael with a smirk.
“Oh, you didn’t know, did you? What was that meal that I cooked at your house, then? Fast food?”
I scoff. “It was not this. I’ve been spoiled now,” I tell him, playfully elbowing him in the side. “Make no mistake, I will be expecting this level of cooking from here on out.”
A shiver runs through me, the previously warm night having turned cool. My reaction to the change doesn’t go unnoticed by Michael.
“It’s gotten chilly. Let me get you something,” he says, running into the barn before giving me a chance to turn him down. I mean, what’s the point? I’m going back inside as soon as Jonathan leaves so Michael and I can talk about things.
“Ah, so he’s cooked for you before?” Jonathan asks as he plays with his car keys.
And with that question, reality sets in once more.
Because despite having spent the entire night enjoying truly exceptional food and fantastic company (because Jonathan is fantastic company), we still haven’t really addressed the fact that Michael and I are…
something. Not really. Not the three of us together, at least.
“Oh. Right. Yes, he has. With our daughters. For my daughters, actually. Not me.”
Jonathan chuckles. “You don’t have to be nervous; it’s okay.
It was one date, if that. Half a date—maybe a quarter of one since we only made it to the dinner table before realizing that it wasn’t going to work between the two of us.
I’m not mad. I’m actually kind of happy that Michael found someone.
Back in the day, I used to believe he and I would be the only ones who would always remain single because we were both such workaholics.
But things have changed—for both of us. And that makes me really happy. ”
I smile and reach out to squeeze Jonathan’s hand once. “You really are an amazing man.”
This makes him laugh. “Thanks. You’re pretty fucking great, too. And it’s obvious in the way Michael looks at you that he thinks so too. That he’s a little more than just interested.”
My stomach rolls as I look over my shoulder at the barn. “We’ll see. I have a ton of baggage.”
“Hey,” he says in a soft voice. I turn to stare back into his aqua eyes. “It’s not baggage—it’s life. And if he cares to be in yours, he’ll accept whatever it is as his own.”
“Here, I brought you a blanket.” We turn to Michael’s voice, watching him run to us, stopping only to wrap me as tight as a burrito in a soft, gray plaid blanket.
Jonathan smiles between the two of us. “I’m gonna head out, you guys. So you’re giving her a ride home?”
Michael smiles. “Yeah.”
And without another word—just a small wave as he pulls out from the driveway—Jonathan leaves us both beneath the twinkling stars.
“I’m right here, you know. What if I wanted to go with him?” I huff.
Michael wraps his arms around my waist, presses his forehead against mine. “You already agreed to stay behind after dinner. And there’s no way I’m letting you out of my sight yet. Not after you avoided me for so long.”
“Maybe it was with good reason,” I tease, but the regret that follows is immediate. The hurt on his face reminds me of how stupid and inconsiderate my actions—or lack thereof—have been. “I’m sorry,” I shake my head. “That wasn’t funny.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Michael frowns and sighs. “Let’s go back inside and talk. I’ll give you a tour of the kitchen and make you some tea—you’re clearly freezing somehow—while I make sure the staff put everything back in its right place before leaving for the night.”
“Everyone’s gone already?”
He nods, pulling me behind him by the hand. “I don’t know if you noticed, but we were done with dinner a while ago. I guess the conversation was so good, time flew by.” He shoots me a smirk over his shoulder. “Can you stay a bit longer?”
I pull out my phone to check Emi’s glucose levels and relax once I see they’re stable.
“Maybe half an hour? Forty-five minutes more?” I don’t want to push it.
Michael leads me into the industrial kitchen, and while it’s not something that would appear in Architectural Digest, I can’t help but gawk at all the gadgets and different types of cooking appliances that fill the room. For anyone who’s a fan of cooking, it’s a dream.
“Whoa,” I breathe, setting the blanket on the spotless metal counter before running a finger over it.
It’s not pretty, but something about the utility of it all impresses me.
It could take what you give it—anything at all—and not budge or bend or creak or break for anything or anyone—the antithesis of how I feel sometimes.
Michael fills an electric kettle with water and starts it. From a utility rack, he pulls a mug down and hands it to me.
“One sec,” he says before heading into what looks like the pantry. After just a moment, he’s back with a box of tea and a jar of honey. “This good? It’s dandelion tea.”
I shrug. “Sure. I’ve never had dandelion tea before.”
He reaches out and grabs hold of my hips, pulling me up onto the counter with a surprising amount of ease.
The contrast of cold metal and his heated touch sends shivers up my spine.
Michael presses a soft kiss against my lips while gently pushing my silk skirt up my thighs, making room for himself between my legs.
“Really? You’ll like it. It’s good for you, too. Lots of antioxidants.” He presses a kiss to the side of my neck. “And anti-inflammatory properties.”
Michael presses a kiss to the other side, this time with an open mouth.
My eyes slide shut, and I move my head to give him more room.
“Are you—” I inhale sharply when his teeth graze my skin. “Are you selling this tea or something?”
This makes him chuckle, so he pulls away to give me an indulgent smile. Without breaking eye contact, he unbuttons his chef’s jacket before tossing it behind him carelessly on the floor.
I press my lips together—though the urge to do so disappears once my eyes travel south and they land on the fitted white t-shirt stretching over his broad shoulders. And god, how does he manage to look so good in the most basic article of clothing?
“No, I’m not selling it. Just thought it was appropriate.”
“Appropriate?”
The kettle automatically turns off as the water reaches its boiling point.
Michael nods and takes the cup from me, gently opening a tea bag, and dropping it inside before pouring the water.
“Dandelions symbolize resilience and healing—hope and strength. I thought it was appropriate since you embody those qualities every single day.”
I can’t help the grin on my face or the way it fades just as quickly as it appears. “I wish that were true.”
“Believe me, Diana. It’s true. You are…” He inhales deeply, shaking his head as if in disbelief. “Incredible.”
Speechless, I watch as he pulls the wand from the pot, the golden syrup drizzling and shining under the overhead lighting.
“Would you like some? It’s local honey,” he offers, his voice deep.
I nod, the only way I seem to be able to answer right now.
Wordlessly, I watch him drizzle honey into my cup before putting the wand back into the glass container.
“Shit, my fingers are all sticky.”
And though he begins to pull away to presumably go wash his hands, something foreign comes over me leading me to wrap my legs around his waist to stop him.
“Let me,” I whisper, taking his hand. I bring his index finger into my mouth, tasting the sweet honey on his skin as I suck it off. Michael watches, slack-jawed and rapt, a slow moan building in his chest.
“Fuck.” And in that moment, I know it’s both an expletive, and a promise.