Chapter 8
At first, I wasn’t sure where to serve dinner.
Although the dining room seemed a bit formal, I worried the kitchen might be too intimate.
But in the end, I figured just the two of us eating in a dining room that could seat up to two dozen would be beyond weird.
So, I set a couple of places at the corner of the kitchen island, and I told Xander to pull up a stool.
I filled our plates, and since I’d already opened the bottle of red to cook with, I filled a pair of wineglasses as well.
Not that I was trying to turn this into some kind of romantic-dinner-for-two arrangement—there were absolutely no candles involved, and all the overhead lights were turned on full bright—but I thought it might be nice to toast the start of our business relationship.
I raised my glass. “Here’s to…new beginnings,” I said.
Xander hesitated, and it occurred to me that I might have made a wrong assumption. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have asked if you drank, or if you were sober.”
He knitted his brows together. “Right now, I’m sober,” he said. “But I believe that once I drink this, I will not be?”
I nodded. “That sounds about right.”
“Excellent,” he said with a big smile that made me smile back. He took an enthusiastic sip, and I did the same.
“I’ve never tasted anything like this,” he said. “It’s so…earthy. When I drink it, I feel like I understand the land.”
“Wow,” I said. “Your palate is way better than mine.” I took another sip to see if I could taste what Xander did, but it just tasted like a nice red blend to me. “I’ll tell Wills you enjoyed it. It’s from his shop.”
We had another sip of the wine, and then we turned our attention to our steaming plates.
“What did you call this again?” asked Xander, indicating the food.
“Chicken cacciatore.”
“And it’s hot?” he asked.
“It has a little bit of a kick, but it’s not too spicy,” I said.
“No, I mean—” He stopped himself and shook his head. Smiled. “I’m sure it will be perfect.”
But would it be perfect? I was surprised to discover that I desperately wanted it to be.
Suddenly, I felt like a contestant on one of those TV cooking shows, watching the judge taste my food, wondering if Gordon Ramsay or whoever was going to launch into an expletive-laden tirade about the heat level and throw the plate at me.
Not that I thought Xander would throw the plate at me.
Or launch into an expletive-laden tirade.
But as he took his first bite, I was on tenterhooks, waiting for his reaction.
“The sauce is delicious,” he said, and I felt like I’d just been named Top Chef. “And the meat… It reminds me of something. It tastes just like…just like…”
“Chicken?” I suggested with a playful grin.
He gave me a baffled look. “I thought it was chicken.”
Uh-oh. It looked like we were coming up against that language barrier again.
“It is,” I said. “But there’s an expression we have here. A lot of times, when people are describing an exotic delicacy, and they want to make it sound more accessible, they say it tastes just like chicken.”
Xander thought about this. “So, you were making a joke?” he asked.
Awesome. Now, I was turning into my dad. “Apparently not,” I said.
Xander burst out laughing. “Now, that,” he said, “was funny.”
I let out a small laugh too. Then, as a cozy atmosphere settled around us like an old fleece blanket, we dug in to our dishes.
Between bites, Xander gestured down at Casey. The dog was, of course, camped out on the floor by our stools, trying his damnedest to make this dinner for two a trio. “How long have you had him?” Xander asked.
“Casey? Well, technically, he belongs to my parents,” I said.
“My dad, in particular. Dad’s his main person, if you know what I mean.
But I’m looking after him while my folks are away.
They got him when I went off to college, about eight years ago.
I guess he was their answer to empty-nest syndrome?
” I shrugged. “They adopted him from a shelter.”
“So, I’m not the first stray to be staying here,” he said.
“No,” I said. “But Casey can’t fix the plumbing.”
He smiled. “So, you’re taking care of the dog, and you’re taking care of this place,” he said. His smile became sweeter, and he looked at me like he really saw me. Or maybe like he saw into me, into my soul. “You’re a natural caretaker, Hannah.”
Was I? I wasn’t sure. Taking care of Casey felt natural, yes. I loved the dog like the “little brother” Dad insisted he was to me. But taking care of the Sunny Side? That had always felt more like a responsibility. More like work.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I said.
But I kept staring at him. And he kept staring at me. His eyes really were an unfathomable green, the color constantly shifting and moving. Like the sea.
His gaze reminded me of the open water, of the summer sun glinting off the waves. Of the incredible sense of freedom and unbridled joy I used to feel as a teen, swimming in the breakwater.
The deeper I peered into his twin pools of green, the more I wished I could dive right into them and—
“Haddock!” Xander exclaimed suddenly.
I shook my head and focused. “W-what?”
“The chicken,” he said. “It tastes just like haddock.”
* * *
When both Xander and I had eaten our fill, I divided what was left of the wine between our two glasses.
I felt warm and relaxed and happy, which I chalked up to a full stomach and the pleasant buzz from drinking half a bottle of the red.
Although, if I was being completely honest, I’d have to give at least partial credit for my agreeable mood to Xander.
Despite the occasional communication hiccup, we’d chatted easily all through dinner.
Almost too easily. Once again, I found my mind circling back to the possibility that our paths had crossed before.
It was as if I had a memory of the two of us that was just out of reach, that was somehow too quick or too slippery or too ethereal to grasp.
Or maybe I’d just had too much wine.
With the food all gone, Casey shifted from begging mode into I-need-to-go-out mode. I sighed, reluctant to leave our table. “I need to take the dog for a walk,” I said.
“I’ll go with you,” said Xander. “If you don’t mind the company, that is. I’d like to walk. I could use the practice.”
I was sure he meant exercise, not practice. But I didn’t bother to correct him.
* * *
Leaving the warmth of the Sunny Side, Xander, Casey, and I stepped out into the cold night air. The ocean breeze was blowing strong again, and I could feel the sting of the salt on my face. I could taste it on my lips.
As I pulled the door closed behind us, I spotted one of my neighbors standing by the curb, waiting while his dog lifted his leg.
“Hi, Mr. Ricci,” I called to the enormous tank of an old guy as the three of us came down the front steps. “Hi, Tiger,” I said to his teeny-tiny Chihuahua dressed in a teeny-tiny zebra-print coat.
Mr. Ricci just grunted. His standard reply.
“Tiger?” Xander asked me, confused.
Mr. Ricci shot Xander a nasty look. “You got a problem with that?”
Uh-oh.
I really hoped this wasn’t about to become a scene.
“The little dog’s name is Tiger,” I explained to Xander.
That seemed to confuse him even more. “Then why is he wearing a zebra coat?”
“Because it’s cold,” growled Mr. Ricci. Then, he turned his attention to the dog. And totally changed his tune. “Peepees all done?” he asked in a high-pitched, singsong voice. “Oh, such a good little guy!”
With a parting death glare at us, he continued to talk baby talk to Tiger as they headed down the block.
I pointed in the other direction. “Let’s go this way.”
It was already black out, but the moonlight was shimmering through the clouds that had rolled in from the shore, lighting our way.
Because it got dark so early these days, I didn’t take Casey all the way to the beach on his nighttime outings.
Instead, I just walked him up and down our stretch of Atlantic Avenue until he was finished doing his business.
I let the leash unspool so the dog could trot on ahead.
Xander and I followed at a more leisurely pace, our strides easily matching, my shoulder occasionally bumping his biceps.
The cold seaside air should have sharpened my senses, but instead, everything seemed to have a fuzzy quality, like my real life had a built-in Instagram filter.
We were halfway up the block before I noticed Xander was still wearing just my father’s slippers.
“Oh, I’ll have to get you some better footwear for tomorrow,” I said. Dad had left his work boots behind, and I thought they would do nicely.
“You’re very kind,” said Xander, his voice full of sincere gratitude. “You’ve been very kind to me.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just smiled and looked down at my feet.
But I knew what I wanted to say. I wanted to ask him what had happened to him, why my kindness was even needed.
But I also didn’t want to push. Didn’t want to pry.
If he’d been through some trauma, the last thing I wanted was to traumatize him all over again.
Besides, for some reason I couldn’t truly fathom but didn’t want to question, I trusted him. I felt certain he would open up to me eventually. So, I wanted to give him the time and space to do that.
We kept walking. For a bit, there was no sound but our footfalls and the distant squawking of the gulls.
“Hannah,” Xander began, breaking the silence between us.
I looked back up at him. “Yes?”
He frowned. “Since I’ll be staying with you for a while, there’s something I should probably tell—”
A loud, happy yelp from Casey cut off whatever Xander had been about to say. Quickly, the mutt reversed direction, dashing past us and back to where he’d just spotted Garth walking Millie. Before I could react, Casey’s leash looped around Xander and me, lassoing our legs and tethering us together.
I nearly lost my balance.
Xander reached out to steady me, grabbing me by the waist. And I nearly lost my mind.
My breath hitched at the sudden contact. My heartbeat raced at the unexpected proximity. I could feel the warmth of Xander’s hands through my coat, and heat coursed through my body until I was practically melting with desire.
But it was more than that. Something about his touch, about his strong hands firmly grasping my middle, was stirring up other emotions. Confusing emotions. Emotions that felt too big for a silly little mishap like this.
I stared up at him. He was staring down at me with those green eyes of his. Those eyes as deep as the ocean. And as patient as the sea. Again, he seemed to be waiting for me to say something. To…remember something, maybe?
Just then, something flickered in my memory, like a distant bonfire on the beach.
“Are you guys okay over there?” called Garth, interrupting.
If Xander and I hadn’t been literally tangled together, we probably would have sprung apart in embarrassment. As it was, we both snapped our heads toward Garth, and Xander let his hands drop from my waist.
And just like that, the flicker in my memory was gone.
Casey was joyfully greeting Millie, I saw. I gave Garth a somewhat less enthusiastic wave hello. “We’ll manage,” I called back.
I disentangled my legs, and Xander did the same.
With Garth watching, I felt a little self-conscious, and I thought Xander did too.
Like me, he seemed to be going out of his way to avoid any physical contact while we freed ourselves.
By the time we walked over to join Garth and the dogs, the world had sharp edges again.
After that, I was all business. Once we returned from our walk, I located those work boots for Xander, as well as some additional pants and shirts. Lots of shirts. It was only later, as I lay in bed, that it dawned on me…
Xander had been about to tell me something, hadn’t he? But dammit, the whole episode with the leash had put any serious conversation between us on hold. Now, who knew when he’d be ready to spill the tea to me again.