Chapter 13 #3
Please don’t take this the wrong way, but letting me cook is thank you enough.
There’s a right way to take that?
See you at seven?
A) 7 is fine
B) Don’t think we’re just going to ignore what you said
Got to prep for a meeting with a mentee, see you tomorrow.
THEO.
She thought she’d be nervous, having Theo over again.
And while there was a fluttering in her chest that made her forgo her third cup of coffee for the day, now that he’s here, the sleeves of his black Henley pushed up to his elbows as he searches for a pot to prep the sauce for the tikka masala he swears is going to change Sage’s life, looking for all the world like he belongs in her kitchen …
Sage cannot find a hint of discomfort in her body.
There are several other emotions warring for her attention, but she tries to keep those at bay. It hadn’t helped that he’d shown up with a tote bag of groceries, including chicken that had apparently been marinating for twelve hours.
It was equal parts adorable and surprisingly nerdy in a way Sage can uniquely appreciate, and it had heat spreading through her as she’d grabbed them both beers—her only contribution to dinner—and followed him to the stove.
Theo demanded she stay out at the risk that her “inability to boil water makes their dinner go to pot,” so she’s sitting on a barstool, beer bottle in hand, listening to him rave about his favorite Indian restaurant in Shoreditch as snow falls gently outside.
It’s been off and on all day, picking up just enough that Theo had to brush it from his hair as he walked in earlier.
A fire flickers in the fireplace in the living room, adding to the cozy atmosphere that has Sage hugging a knee to her chest as she watches him.
“So you’re a mentor?”
Theo keeps his focus on the cutting board, his knife flashing in the firelight as he steadily dices an onion.
“I am. I partner with an organization who helps new actors navigate the industry.” He scrapes the onion into a pot that’s simmering with oil.
“I’m not naive of the privilege I hold, especially with my father being connected in the business.
If I can pay it forward by helping others who don’t have those connections … it’s the least I can do.”
“That wasn’t on your Wikipedia page,” Sage teases, but there’s a warmth in her chest that bleeds into her words, and she’s sure Theo can see it on her face as he gives her a small half smile.
“I don’t like to broadcast it. It’s not some big secret or anything, but … it’s not about PR, you know?”
“Yeah,” Sage says softly. “I get that.”
She wonders how his father feels about that—not leveraging the opportunity with the press—and if that’s one more area they fight over.
She nearly asks, but Theo looks so relaxed, moving about the kitchen with an ease that speaks to a love of cooking, and she doesn’t want to sour the mood. So instead, she says, “So tell me about the recipe.”
“Nicked it off the owner of that restaurant, actually,” he says with a fond grin, his hair sweeping across his brow as he sautés the onion. “Lovely bloke. Asked if I’d sign something for his niece and offered the recipe in return since I’m always ordering it.”
“I didn’t take you for a creature of habit,” Sage remarks through a sip of beer.
Theo pauses, his lips pursed as he considers this. “I suppose I am in some ways and am not in others. My job sort of demands I be flexible, and I like experiencing new things.” He glances down at the pot. “But this? I could eat this every day and never have a single complaint.”
She raises a brow. “You’re really hyping up this meal.”
“It’s a meal that deserves proper hype.”
He starts adding an array of spices, a warm aroma beginning to seep through the kitchen. Theo moves quickly, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sprinkles them in without measuring a single one.
“Not much of a Thanksgiving dinner, though, is it?” he muses.
Sage shrugs. Her parents are likely at the block party already.
“I’m not disappointed,” she admits. Theo hums as he stirs. He adds a few more ingredients and then adjusts the temperature on the stove.
“There,” he remarks, as he steps back. He washes his hands, and Sage tracks the way he rubs the towel over his long fingers to dry them. “It just has to thicken a bit, but in the meantime—”
With a simple click, they’re plunged into total darkness.
For a long moment, they sit in the type of silence that only comes when every single electronic device in the house is off, the flames of the gas fireplace casting the kitchen in a dim light.
“Bollocks,” Theo mutters. “Your hob is electric, isn’t it?”
“Um,” Sage says eloquently, before a giggle begins to force its way up her throat.
Then it’s out of her mouth, the sound slightly unhinged as she buries her head in her hands and dissolves into full-on, uncontrollable laughter.
“Oh my god,” Sage stutters, wiping tears from her eyes.
“I’m so sorry, it’s just … I should have expected this. Edgar did warn me about the power.”
Theo grins and shakes his head as he looks to the windows.
“Makes sense,” he remarks, nodding at the landscape.
Sage follows his gaze to see that at some point, the light snow shower has become far more blizzard and is blanketing the rolling hills in a thick layer of white.
It’s already built up against the floor-to-ceiling windows and shows no sign of slowing down.
“Wow, I didn’t even notice it picked up like that,” she remarks.
“Me neither.”
She turns to see Theo pouting at the remaining ingredients on the counter. “You could put them in the fridge?”
“I don’t want to spoil the rest of your food by opening it,” he mumbles.
The groceries he’d ruin are actually in the freezer, but she doesn’t feel the need to correct him. “You could put it outside? Natural refrigerator?”
That pulls Theo out of his pity party. He raises an unimpressed brow, his arms folding across his chest as he leans against the counter behind him. “How on earth have you not poisoned yourself yet?”
Sage is grateful for the lack of light as an embarrassed flush warms her cheeks. “I may or may not do one of those pre-made meal kit things at home.”
“Oh my god,” he groans. “You pick it up at the gym too, don’t you?”
“No!” She straightens, her hands tightening around her beer. “I pick it up at the spin studio my friend Margot talked me into joining,” she says primly.
“You truly are hopeless.” He grins. Sage hops off the barstool and makes her way to the cupboard.
“You’d be hopeless if it weren’t for me,” she corrects, opening the doors with a flourish to reveal the packaged snacks she’s stuffed away.
Theo steps up behind her, and he’s so close that she can almost feel the way his chest vibrates with the contemplative hum he makes. Her stomach tightens, her body leaning back ever so slightly, as if primed to get closer whenever he’s near.
“Are you planning on making the apple-and-cinnamon porridge over the fire? Seems advanced for you.”
She shifts her elbow to nudge him in his ribs. “There are chips! And hush. I’m the chef now.”
“God help us.”
She spins around and he’s right there, which she knew, of course, but the proximity has her stumbling back into the cabinets as her feet get tangled with his. Theo’s hands shoot out to steady her, and they’re warm and large on the dips of her waist.
Sage swallows.
It does nothing to ease the way her pulse picks up a relentless rhythm in her throat.
“Do you want food or not?” she asks.
There’s no way he buys her attitude, not with the way the words come out light and breathless. And yet Theo pretends to think on it for a moment.
Then a smirk, devastating as it is dangerous, tugs on his lips. His fingers press in, and Sage tries to remind herself to breathe.
“If I vote not, does that mean there are other options?” A quiet huskiness roughens up his smooth vowels, and it has Sage swallowing against the dryness that’s suddenly parched her throat.
Oh god.
She feels like the room is spinning, and it’s not the beer, it’s Theo and the way he’s looking at her, all darkening eyes and blatant want, and she can’t look away.
Her hands find his waist, because she feels like if she doesn’t grip something, she’ll rotate off right with the earth, which is surely leaving its gravitational field.
Theo’s head dips closer to hers, his body swaying slowly into her space, and she wonders if he even knows he’s doing it, or if he simply can’t resist the pull between them, either.
And yet he pauses … waits.
Gives her time to pull away.
She doesn’t.
His breath brushes across her lips as he whispers her name.
“Sage.”
It sounds like a plea.
And yet it still takes her a moment to fully realize what he’s asking. To calculate the distance from point A to point B and arrive at a conclusion that maybe has been inevitable ever since she ran into him at that pub.
Or maybe since he first looked over at her on the plane.
She tugs slightly on his belt loops. It’s all the confirmation Theo needs as he surges forward, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that’s deep and raw and heated.
It sends Sage’s blood roaring.
Her back hits the cupboard with a soft thud, her breath snagging in her chest as he presses against her. His body is warm and firm, and her fingers trail up his sides and over his shoulders, as if she can memorize the contours of his lithe muscles and the way heat radiates through his shirt.
A moan slips from her as Theo nips her lip, and the sound has his fingers bunching in the fabric of her sweater as he pulls her closer. Desire rushes through her as his tongue meets hers, tightening her stomach and her grip on his arms and—
A booming knock on the door slices through the moment like a knife.
They both startle, Theo jerking backward as Sage’s head whips back against the cupboard.
“Ow.”
“Shit,” he breathes, his hand coming to cup the back of her head, the other still on her waist. “Are you all right?”