Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Honesty rolled over, her head on the pillow opposite him. Facing her across a mattress was far less alarming than it should have been. When he’d suggested they keep sleeping together, he had been equal parts shocked and thrilled that she’d agreed.
She tucked her hand beneath her cheek and blinked up at him. She’d been sated and breathing his name a few minutes ago—his favorite. While she looked relaxed lying there, Dante could tell by the spark in her eyes that “sated” was no longer what she was feeling.
Her physical beauty was undeniable. He was mentally kicking his ass for every moment he hadn’t appreciated her wavy dark hair, thick lashes or high cheekbones. And her breasts—forget about it. Sonnets had been written about them, he had no doubt.
“You look like you’re ready for that crème br?lée.” He narrowed his eyes. “Unless you’re looking at me like I’m crème br?lée. In which case, give me five minutes and I swear to God I’ll be ready.”
The dessert reference had been their ongoing joke since the last time they were in his penthouse. She’d mentioned chocolate cake that night. And tonight, after they’d come back to the Crane, he’d offered to sample her like dessert, and she had accepted.
Sliding his hands beneath her silken dress and finding her sweetest spot had been his second favorite part of the evening.
“I’m actually thinking about Eli,” she said.
He raised both eyebrows. “He’s married.”
She poked his shoulder. “Not in a sexual way. I was thinking of meeting with him. What I want to tell him about my program. What he needs to know. I want to cook for him. He could come by my office, and he could bring his wife. What did you say her name was?”
“Isa.”
“Isa, right.” Her brow furrowed. “I’ll have that memorized by then.
I want them to have the full experience.
To see in person what I’m offering. I could make something simple and elegant, like sheet pan chicken and roasted root vegetables.
Oh! And a yummy Greek yogurt dipping sauce with fresh herbs.
Do you think soup is too rustic? I make an excellent white bean soup.
But I could zhuzh that up. Maybe white chicken chili. Is that too much chicken?”
“Honesty—”
But she had more to say. “I also want to show him how I do prep-ahead meals like overnight oats, chia pudding, and boiled eggs. Not that he would need to taste them, but I want to show off the preparation.” She paused when she noticed him smiling. “What were you going to say?”
“I was going to say that sounds like a lot of work for you.”
Her expression turned worried. “You don’t think he’s going to like my recipes.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Is sheet pan chicken not bougie enough for him?”
“It’s not about being bougie.” He put his hand on her arm to ease the harshness of this next truth. “It’s that Eli doesn’t eat meat.”
“Oh. Well, I offer vegetarian and vegan options. And fish. Does he eat fish?” She covered her forehead with one hand. “I didn’t consider that he didn’t eat meat—which is insane, because ‘Do you have any food restrictions?’ is practically tattooed on my forehead.”
“Breathe, beautiful.” He moved her hand away from her eyes and kissed her palm. “Your first idea was your best one. Design a meal plan or show him a sample menu. No cooking required.”
“When people hear that I’m a nutritionist, they think that the food I recommend is going to be bland and boring. They think chicken and broccoli and rice, chicken and broccoli and rice.” She spoke in a rhythm that hinted she’d heard that a time or three during her career.
“And you don’t want Eli to think chicken and broccoli and rice.”
“No. I want him to be impressed.”
Dante understood that. How many unnecessary hoops had he jumped through when he’d first taken over his grandfather’s foundation? He’d gone out of his way to prove to board members, donors, and even the charities themselves that he was trustworthy and would work hard on their behalf.
“You can test your menu on me,” he suggested. If he could assuage even one of her worries, he would.
“Sorry?”
“I promise to taste everything. That way, whatever Eli mentions from the menu, I can chime in and tell him how much I liked it.”
“Are you and Eli close?”
He seesawed his head in thought. “We’re not not close. But my dad being his uncle, we did see our Chicago-based cousins a handful of times over the years. We’re not strangers. Crane blood runs thick.”
None of them would abandon a Crane in need—or any woman associated with one of them.
His father, O, and his uncle, Alex, had raised their kids to be loyal to family.
He frowned as he considered how O had been with his mom and other women over the years, always having justified that the relationship had run its course.
No wonder his own view of relationships was so fucked up.
“You really wouldn’t mind coming over? It would help me prepare, like mentally. And I will have a lot of food I’ll need help eating. I can take some to my neighbor, Mr. Murphy, but it’ll be too much for the two of us.”
“Are you kidding? I do not pass up homemade meals. Especially yours.”
She gave him a smacking kiss in the center of his mouth, but before he could deepen it, she began ticking menu items off on her fingers, whispering under her breath about this ingredient or that.
His attention strayed from her mouth to the sheet covering her breasts.
He tugged at it until he revealed one rose-colored nipple, and then the other.
“Hello?” She tugged the sheet to cover herself. “What are you doing? I’m working.”
“What if I help? I don’t want you wasting your energy toiling away over a hot oven. You’ll need your strength for after.”
“Will I?” Her eyebrows raised.
“Yes.”
“Can you cook, Dante Crane?” Her sexy grin would be the death of him.
“I actually cook well. I have braised my own beef. I have attempted a soufflé. I’ve baked birthday cakes.”
“Seriously?”
“Okay, one birthday cake. From a box,” he amended. “And I was ten years old.”
She laughed.
“Mostly I throw together charcuterie and cheese boards or toss burgers on the grill. But that’s cooking.”
“Is that how you impress the women you date?” She propped up on an elbow and rested her chin on her hand. The move had the added benefit of revealing her breasts again.
“Why else?”
She offered him a pitying laugh, and he wondered for one insane moment if he didn’t like that look better on her than the sated one.
“Have you dated much since…?” He’d been curious.
She bit her lip but then answered him anyway. “Here and there. Nothing terribly noteworthy. No close calls to matrimony or anything. What about you?”
“Here and there,” he repeated, though he wondered if he had been more there than here over the years. “Dating’s a lot of work,” he found himself admitting. “All the small talk and dinners out. And then there’s timing. You can’t go in too soon or too late for the first kiss or first time you—”
He cut himself off when he realized what he’d been about to admit.
“Anyway,” he continued. “I stay busy with work.”
“Nice save.” She went quiet for a beat before saying, “Thank you, by the way.”
“For the orgasms, you mean.”
“No.” She tossed the sheets off her body and straddled him.
Once she was there, he grasped her ass in both hands, his eyes on her naked breasts.
She rerouted his chin so that he was making eye contact.
“I mean, yes, thank you for those. But thank you more for the help. I would have gotten my charity off the ground eventually. But you’re making it faster for me. And I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” He kissed her softly. “On both counts.”
It was easy to be here with her like this, chatting about work or teasing each other, and after sex so good he wondered how he’d classified the sex they’d had in college in the same category.
The thought made him instantly melancholy. If things had worked out years ago, or if he hadn’t taken over his grandfather’s foundation, or if he had moved the foundation to Chicago, what might have happened?
Useless questions with no real answers.
There had been one path for him at the time. He’d been blinded by grief and duty, and had marched down the only road visible to him.
Over the years, he’d considered other options. Honesty coming with him hadn’t been the only one—it had just made the most sense to him at the time. He’d shoved aside his feelings for her and had run to his family’s aid.
Honesty had stood by her goals and dreams and had told him no. He’d decided that meant she didn’t care about him. Funny, because he’d done the same thing to her. He had loved her but let her walk, never offering another option—any option—that might have kept them together.
Regrets. He wasn’t a fan of having them. He wasn’t sure that was the right word for what he was feeling now. All he knew was that he had recently become aware of another path, one he hadn’t noticed when he’d needed it most.
And if they had stayed together, would they be married, as Jaylyn had suggested?
Would they have a son? A daughter? One of each?
Or would they be like they were now: child-free and career-focused?
And the toughest thing to think about: would they have relocated to California eventually if he hadn’t made the move feel like a demand instead of a decision they could have made together?
Since he didn’t have the luxury of or access to a time machine—apparently the only thing money couldn’t buy—he would have to be satisfied with what he could guarantee. Which was time with Honesty, at least for a couple of weeks.
And maybe, if he played his cards right, she would let him back into her bed again when he came into town in the future. Maybe they could have a casual fling whenever he was around. Maybe she would fly out to see him a few times a year…
He frowned to himself when he realized he was outlining a long-distance relationship. He had been dead set against that eight years ago. How much time had he wasted so far being a stubborn, bull-headed—
“Whoa,” she said gently as she thumbed the crease between his eyebrows. “Where did you go? You went from playful and ogling my body to serious and slightly angry. You okay?”
“Sorry. Yes, I’m fine. I was thinking about”—he turned over the many, many thoughts he’d had and purposefully steered away from the rocks—“what night we want to cook. I can go shopping with you if you want.”
“If that’s what made you look like you were chewing nails, maybe it’s best if I shop alone.” She smiled and he returned it—at least he hoped he was smiling. “How about tomorrow night? If you’re free.”
“I’m free. I’ll set up the luncheon with Eli within the next few days. No sense in delaying progress.”
She ruffled his hair, her expression thoughtful, if a touch sad.
Was she thinking about the inevitable end date for them? Or was she also wondering if they would make a better decision this time around? Maybe they could consider a compromise rather than throw everything into the incinerator again.
He decided to take it a day at a time.
Whatever happened, it was better to think of their end date as more of an ellipsis than a full stop.