Chapter 37
CHAPTER
WHEN I PAD downstairs, Luc is already in the kitchen wearing jeans and a fisherman’s sweater, his hair wet. I guess there’s another shower somewhere in the firehouse.
“Warmer?” he asks.
“I probably used up all your hot water.” I feel shy in his sweats, aware that I don’t have anything beneath them.
Luc opens the double doors of his fridge. “You can repay me by teaching me how to make dinner.”
There’s not much in the fridge. I pull out eggs, a container of cheese, and some wilted vegetables. “This won’t be my best work,” I say, “given the options.”
“Don’t care as long as you’re cooking,” Luc replies and pulls out two IPAs, opens them for us, then settles on a stool.
I take a swallow of beer. “That’s not the deal. I’m teaching you how to cook. Get a bowl and crack eight eggs into it …”
“Bossy.”
“Yup.” Luc manages to only get two eggshells in the scramble.
I push up the sleeves on the oversized sweatshirt he gave me and help him fish the shells out.
His proximity, our bodies separated by inches, his scent, and the brush of his fingers against mine is a heady mix.
I fight the urge to turn and press into him.
Ten minutes later, I put what will be a vegetable and goat cheese quiche into the oven.
Luc doesn’t have any bread but does have some flour and yogurt, so I show him how to mix it in a bowl to make easy flatbread to go with our meal.
“Now gather it into a ball and turn it over about ten times,” I instruct.
“Like this?” Luc asks, his hands covered in the sticky dough.
Laughing, I reach over, peel the dough from his skin, then dust his palms with flour, our fingers skimming as I teach him how to knead correctly.
Standing this close, touching him, makes my insides feel like they’re strung too tight.
I take a gulp of the ice water he poured me and have him take over, then divide the dough into eight pieces.
We shape, then flatten each into rough circles. “Do you have a fry pan and olive oil?”
“I’m not an animal,” Luc jokes.
He pulls both out and I show him how to pan-fry the bread. We slather it with butter, sprinkle salt flakes, and Luc’s eyes close as he takes a first bite. “Incredible,” he moans.
Watching him enjoy the bread, butter glistening on his lips, makes me want to kiss him again. Luc holds out the warm bread and I take a bite, the tips of his fingers brushing the corner of my mouth. Longing floods. The oven’s delicate chime breaks the spell, and I pull the quiche out.
The sun has set and the city sparkles outside giant plate glass windows. We feed the dogs, then eat dinner at the counter. Luc’s chairs have full backs and are comfortable. So is the conversation, especially after our second beer.
“This was delicious,” Luc says. “Thank you.”
“You made it, too. In a gourmet kitchen that sadly never gets used.”
“Firehouses need to have big kitchens,” Luc says in his defense. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be a firefighter. That’s why this placed drew me in.”
“Why didn’t you become one?”
He clinks his bottle against mine. “Secret?”
“Please.” We need to adjust the balance since he knows so many of mine already.
“I’m afraid of fire.”
“Always?”
“This kid in my neighborhood growing up—”
“Where’d you grow up?”
“Sacramento. Mom worked at a convenience store. Dad sold cars. This kid on my road, Scotty, was a little pyromaniac. He used to pour gasoline down the gutters of steep streets, then light it on fire and watch the flames race down the hill. When I was nine, Scotty lit an abandoned house we used to play in on fire. He didn’t know a bunch of us were in the attic.
Place went up like matchsticks. Anyway, we had to jump out the attic window.
Broke my ankle. One girl was afraid to jump and died. That terror has never really left me.”
I rest fingertips on his hand. “That must’ve been horrific. I’m so sorry.”
“Apologies for bringing the mood down,” Luc says, chagrined.
“I know how it feels to go through things that make you grow up too fast.”
Luc asks, “Why were you and your mom homeless?”
“She was an addict.” His only reaction is to take my hand. His is strong, warm, and I don’t want him to let go. “I’m glad you became a tech geek instead of a firefighter,” I say to lighten the moment, “for Frank’s sake.”
“I used to get my ass kicked at school until I grew six inches over one summer,” Luc shares with a chuckle. “One of those bullies applied for a job at my first company.”
It’s hard to think straight with his thumb brushing along my knuckles. “Did you hire him?”
“Hell no. He flushed my head in a toilet bowl.”
I laugh. “Some things are unforgivable.” Luc brushes a lock of my hair back.
His fingers linger. Our lips meet, tender giving way to need as desire takes flight.
He pushes the dishes aside, lifts me onto the counter.
My legs wrap around his waist. We don’t so much kiss as fall into each other.
I knock over a beer bottle and we come up for air, laugh, then slide back together again.
His hands slip beneath my sweatshirt, fingertips skimming along shivery skin, leaving an invisible bioluminescence in their wake …
Luc stated in the bar that he never wanted children. You have a child.
I registered evasiveness on his part …
Luc picks me up, heads up the staircase with my legs still around his waist. It’s clear how much he wants me. I want him, too. I try to squash my worries, but they buzz like mosquitoes in my ears.
Aletheia’s opinion aside, do I want to leap into this without being sure of him?
What if this is just a one-night stand?
Am I okay with that?
What am I really looking for?
Halfway to Luc’s bedroom, I slip to the ground. “I’m not ready,” I say, breathless.
Luc’s eyes flicker with disappointment. “It’s okay.”
We watch Best in Show on the living room couch, Frank stretched out beside Luc, Sally by me.
The movie is about five dogs and their eccentric owners, handlers, and trainers on a trip to Philadelphia to compete in a major dog show.
At various times, our dogs watch the movie with us. Once, Frank barks.
“What’d you think?” Luc asks when the film ends.
I laughed, a lot. “Gerry was the best.” The middle-aged man had two left feet and walked in loops because of it. He adored his dog, Winky, and when his wife got hurt and couldn’t show their dog, he took her place and won the show. “I have a soft spot for quirky guys.”
“Does one who quit his career and became a teacher count?” Luc asks.
“No.” His smile dips. “But one who gets rid of a perfectly good firepole and puts in an elevator for his dog does.”
Luc rests a hand on my thigh. “I like you, Penn.”
My heart thuds faster. “I like you, too.” We’ve both slumped on the couch’s soft cushions and my eyes are heavy, every muscle slack. It’s been quite a day …
I wake a few hours later beneath a soft blanket, Sally curled beside me, Luc nowhere in sight. I should probably head home. But Sally burrows closer and I feel warm and safe.