Chapter 12
Deacon
Every person I served with would have been shocked to see me, the king of takeout, in a kitchen like this, but I stirred the sauce, the aroma of garlic and onion all around us in the small kitchen.
Willow was perched with her forearms resting on the kitchen island.
She’d handled some chopping but had otherwise been watching me work as we talked.
“Where did you learn to cook like this? On base?”
“No,” I said. “I ate at the DFAC on base, like the dining center, and MREs in the field.”
“MREs?” Willow held her palm in the air like she was raising her hand. “Let me guess—Meaty rations for everyone?”
I chuckled. “Close. Meals, ready-to-eat. When on my own, I mostly ate like a raccoon, scavenging whatever I could find.” I gave the pasta a few quick stirs and set the wooden spoon across the top like Marcus had shown me.
“My roommate has been teaching me a few things. He’s really good.
Opened a restaurant and everything, though he couldn’t quite make the business work.
Anyway, I figured I should know how to feed myself and new friends in my life, and I’ve got time now until I go back in. ”
She shifted into the space to get plates from the cupboard to my left. “Cruz thought you might want to become an EMT with all the medical training you guys got.”
I checked the noodles against the side of the pan, still not a hundred percent on what al dente should feel like.
“He doesn’t know I’m planning to go back.
” There wasn’t a good reason I hadn’t told Cruz yet.
He was my best friend, and if anyone could understand wanting to be back in, it was him.
Except, I’d realized lately he didn’t fully understand because he’d never left.
No one seemed to understand that. “I need to get around to telling him, but I wouldn’t go the EMT route.
The medical part wasn’t what excited me about the job, anyway,” I added, making sure my voice sounded casual before I changed the subject.
“Dinner is almost ready,” I said with a flourish.
“Remind me, what is this?” She set the plates on the island along with silverware and watched me intently.
“Bolognese.” I moved the frying pan from where I’d been preparing it. “When Marcus taught me, we had to let it simmer for like four hours, so this is kind of a bastardized version.” I studied the sauce. It looked good, and I was kind of proud of myself.
“This is very impressive.” She leaned over and waved her hand over the pot while inhaling deeply, and that simple motion was so incredibly hot.
I glanced away. “You didn’t have to cook for me,” she said, leaning against the counter and sipping from a second glass of wine.
“I already put you to work all evening helping me paint.”
“I like cooking.” I tasted the sauce and added a little more salt.
“Probably helps you impress the women, right?” She held up the bottle to offer me another glass, but I raised my still nearly full one.
I shrugged. “I don’t really cook for women other than my friends.”
“You should,” she said, watching me stir the sauce. “Imagine what would have happened if you made this delicious meal for the woman you were supposed to meet tonight instead of me.”
“I never said it was a woman.”
“But was it?”
I chuckled. “Okay, it was. But we’ve only gone out once, and there was no real spark.”
Willow punched my arm, and I almost dropped the spoon I was holding. “Deacon! You canceled a date to help me paint? I feel awful!”
I’d truly forgotten all about the date after canceling, especially when my gaze would drag to Willow as she was stretching or bending to reach something in one of the kitchen cabinets. The bending had been distracting more than once. “Nah. I told you. No spark.”
“Sometimes sparks come later.”
“Not in my experience.” I gave the sauce another stir.
“Maybe you’re too impatient. Did you kiss her?”
I wondered if Willow was bold because she was comfortable with me or if it was the wine in her hand.
“I’m not impatient.” I thought back to a few nights earlier when a woman named Mallison and I met for drinks.
The most interesting part of the conversation had been talking about her name, a mash-up of her father’s sister Allison and her mother’s favorite band, Metallica.
I’d walked away from the date thinking her mother would probably be more fun to talk to than her. “Nosy. Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” She sipped her wine again, taking a big gulp and looking like she was hiding something.
Next she picked up a paperback that was sitting on the counter and thumbed through it, avoiding eye contact.
It looked like a romance novel, with the woman on the cover in a low-cut ball gown and the bare-chested man behind her smelling her neck. “I was just curious!”
“Are these spicy books you read making you think of kiiiiiiissing?” I made a grab for the book, but she held it out of my reach and set the book aside.
I’d noticed romance books sprinkled all over the house, and I thought it was nice she still liked reading about love. She hadn’t given up on the idea of it.
“No,” she said. “But this author writes them very well.” She held up the cover, the author’s name in bold white type across the bottom: D. A. Bennett. “If you ever want to borrow it. The carriage scenes are top-notch.”
I lifted one eyebrow.
“Not that you need to read about kissing,” she said.
“Not that that’s why I read the books, either.
” Willow blushed easily. I noticed the first time we had coffee and at the wedding, but the charm of her blushes was growing on me.
I took another appreciative glance as I sipped from my glass of wine.
“Maybe I’ll check it out,” I said, letting her off the hook. “Very interested in kisses tonight. Is that the next thing on your list?”
She snort-laughed before slapping a hand over her mouth. “No, of course not.”
“On one hand, good, because I am honor bound to your brother to look out for you, and I can’t help you find random dudes to make out with. But on the other,” I said, offering her a taste of the sauce with the edge of a wooden spoon, “why is it so funny?”
“It just is,” she said, setting the glass aside. “And, oh my God, this is so good!”
“That’s what you should say after a first kiss.”
“I haven’t had a first kiss in ten years.”
I studied her expression and the way the corners of her lips turned down. “How was it?”
“I can’t tell you about my first kiss with Spencer,” she said, hiding her face in her hands.
“So only you can ask about first kisses. Good to know.” I opened a few drawers until I found serving utensils.
“It was clumsy and exciting,” she said, after a pause. “I felt lucky that someone wanted to kiss me.” She toyed with her fingers. “And there was probably too much tongue.”
I laughed at her addition, turning back to the stove to stir the sauce.
“I didn’t kiss the woman the other night.
” I’d thought about it—she was all curves and had a great smile, but the whole night I’d wanted to check scores from the game or google how to make honey mustard or send Emi a funny meme.
“I didn’t kiss her because…I don’t know.
I make it a point not to kiss someone unless they’re all I can focus on.
It’s just something I have a good sense about. ”
“How do you know?”
I always knew. I trusted sparks and chemistry. “I guess you just do.” I flicked the dial on the stove, removing the pasta from the burner. “You’ll meet someone, and you’ll know they’re someone who captivates you. That’s how it is for me, anyway.”
Willow grabbed a small stack of paper napkins from a drawer. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I haven’t dated someone new in a decade, and I never had to think about a kiss with my ex. How do you even maneuver into that position with someone unfamiliar?”
The steam rose off the sauce and pasta, the scents of garlic, basil, and celery wafting into the air in smooth ribbons, and I gave her a quizzical look.
“What?” She touched her face like maybe I was staring at her because of something on it.
I served pasta onto each of our plates. “How do you maneuver?” I parroted her words back to her in a mechanical voice. “Are you a robot?”
“Shut up. You know what I mean, like how do you naturally get into a position to kiss someone you’re not comfortable with yet? That’s a valid question.”
I chuckled and handed her the canister of Parmesan cheese.
Marcus had tried to wean me off it, offering to grate it and extolling the virtues of fresh, but he’d finally given up.
I tipped the green plastic tube on its side, watching the cheese sprinkle down.
In my family, it was a treat to have it.
It was expensive, and having it felt luxurious, even as an adult when I could keep it stocked.
I held it out for Willow, who happily accepted it.
“That is not a valid question. You know how to kiss someone.”
“What if it’s different from with Spencer?”
I shook my head. “You’re overthinking it.”
She wiped the side of her plate to catch a drip of sauce.
She brought it to her lips, and I couldn’t help but follow her finger and take in the shape of her lips.
I was so focused on watching her, I startled when she spoke again.
“I am not overthinking it.” She set her wineglass down and grabbed my arms, pulling me to face her.
She was shorter than me, but I let her position me, curious about what her next move would be.
“Say we’re on a date and I’m like, I think I want to kiss this guy. ”
“Because he’s good-looking, smells nice, and I think his penis might be especially large.”
She pushed my shoulder, and I ducked away with a laugh. “Be serious.”
“Serious about your inability to maneuver. Roger that.”
“Like I was saying, I’m on a date with you and I decide I want to kiss you and think you want it too.”
“Then we kiss.”
“Yeah, but we just met. How do I go from ‘Oh, hey, nice to meet you!’ to ‘Let my tongue in your mouth, please’? I was thirteen the last time I did this and drunk on Sour Patch Kids.”
“Well, I’d say do that again, but I’d have to object to you kissing someone who took you out for Sour Patch Kids.”
“Because that’s your move?”
I shrugged, making a grab for her plate. “Fine. Tease me. I won’t help.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she said, her hand at my biceps to pull me back. Her touch was surprisingly firm, and she looked up at me through her dark lashes, a look in her eyes that showed true hope. “I know this is stupid.”
“Low,” I said, stepping forward, moving into her space and wanting to reassure her.
I could sense her anxiety around this. She smelled like raspberries, and I inhaled the heady scent while I was close to her.
“It’s not stupid. I mean, it’s stupid that you’re worried you’ll be bad at kissing, because…
” I paused, inching forward and letting my fingers graze her waist, the lightest dusting of a touch.
My gaze fell to her lips, and I swallowed.
“Because why?”
She looked so damn insecure, and I wanted to take that away from her.
I let my gaze move in a lazy path from her lips to her eyes.
I noticed how she watched me, wide-eyed and intense, but I didn’t go any faster.
By the time my hand brushed her shoulder, she sucked in a breath.
“Because you’re…” My grip at her waist tightened and our bodies were touching, the heat from her closeness surrounding me.
That little intake of breath was sexy as hell, even though that’s not what this was about.
I wanted her to feel comfortable if she was around someone new.
“What?”
My fingers slid down her arm and circled her wrist, bringing her palm to my chest. “You can put your hand here.”
She flattened her palm as instructed, the heat of her touch surprising.
“You can look for signs,” I said. “Does he step toward you?” I closed more of the gap between us and heard her soft intake of breath. “And if you tip your chin up, does he lean closer?”
She looked up at me through her thick lashes. “And then?”
It hit me in that moment that I’d made a horrible decision. That insecurity in her voice was gone, but now I was questioning myself left and right. What started out as something playful felt a lot like a spark, growing stronger by the second. Willow’s face was near mine, her lips just inches away.
I searched her face, just for a beat, reminding myself what this was before gently cupping the back of her neck, my fingers grazing her curls.
We stood there in that silence, the smell of dinner and raspberry body wash around us and her hand still resting delicately over my heart. She lifted her chin and our breaths were mingling.
My voice was thicker than I planned. “You did it. This is pretty comfortable, right?”
She licked the corner of her lip again, and my gaze flicked to the curve of her mouth. “Yeah, this is comfortable.”
I looked back to her eyes, and the hooded expression there forced my gaze back to her lips, and I imagined the possibilities until I remembered about whom I was imagining.
“Good,” I said, before taking a step back, the disconnection from her jarring.
I hadn’t expected my hand to fit so well against her neck or for her body to feel so pliant against mine.
“Just do something like that. You’ve passed Maneuvering 101. ”
She blinked rapidly and finally nodded, a slow smile creeping across her face. “Thanks. I guess it’s not so hard.”
Oh, it was getting there. I shifted to the island, partially obscuring the effect that lesson had on me.
“I don’t mean to sound so insecure. I mean, how cliché to worry no man will want me again.” She made the joke, but it fell flat because I saw the fear in her eyes.
“You’ll be fine, Low. You’re very kissable, and Spencer won’t be the only person to ever think so.” I pulled the plate toward me and smiled. “Of course,” I said, my signature smirk returning, “no one you kiss is going to make better Bolognese than me.”
“No kiss could be as good as this tastes,” she said, licking a bit of sauce off her finger again. “But maybe something will come close.”
I was jealous of the hypothetical man who would be her re-do on this, but instead of confronting that thought, I shook my head with a laugh and muttered “maneuvering” as I walked toward the table.
“I’m certain plenty of men, good men, worthy men, will want you.
I honestly have no doubt of it.” But I hoped they didn’t make themselves known until I was long gone.