Chapter Eleven #3
But the kitchen wasn’t much better: Alex was there. He and Simon had just come in from the deck, where they’d been putting away the prop weapons for the day. Simon tucked the gym bag of swords behind the dinette table before joining the group in the living room, while Alex hovered in the kitchen.
“Need any help?” He asked the question awkwardly, like someone who didn’t know what to do with their hands.
I didn’t know what to do with mine, either.
We hadn’t talked since Sunday; he didn’t know my plan to turn our kiss into a couple weeks of hooking up.
I didn’t even know if he’d be on board with that—was I presuming too much?
The last thing I wanted to do was talk about any of that with my mother and all her friends—his friends? our friends?—in the next room.
We really should talk. But I didn’t know where to start.
“I’m good.” I reached for the baguette on the counter. After planning this impromptu dinner party I’d run to the store for a few more essentials. And garlic bread was an essential.
“You sure?” He indicated the bag Simon had put away. “I’m sure there’s a machete or something you could use on that bread.”
“Oh,” I said. I followed his gaze and gave a dismissive shake of my head. “No. I usually borrow Mitch’s claymore for that.” His mouth kicked up, and so did mine. Okay. Good. Maybe we could talk a little.
“That sounds sanitary.” He leaned against the kitchen counter while I got the more-appropriate bread knife out of the drawer. “Seriously, you can put me to work if you need. I don’t mind helping out.”
Saying no was the safer choice, but the more we talked, the easier it was to keep talking. And the more I wanted him to stay. “How are you at salads?”
“I work with weapons, you know. I’m great at cutting things.” He followed me to the fridge with a slow, easy amble. I handed him the produce I’d gotten that afternoon, and soon he was set up next to me at the counter and we worked side by side.
And now we weren’t talking. Tension simmered between us, and for the first time I started to lose my nerve.
Could I really do this? Casual hookups were one thing; I was good at those.
But this was Alex. Giving him even the smallest shot at my heavily armored heart seemed risky. Like something I might not survive.
“Thanks for the invite,” he said after a couple minutes.
“I didn’t invite you.” Whoops. That kind of talk wouldn’t lead to a sexy hookup. I added a little more garlic powder to the softened butter and gave it a vigorous stir. We would all be safe from vampires on my watch.
“You didn’t say no, though.” He ran the lettuce through the salad spinner, draining the residual water into the sink. “I saw your face. You wanted to.”
“What do you know about my face?” The words came out a little snippier than I wanted them to.
I concentrated on spreading the garlic butter on the split halves of baguette.
Ugh. Maybe I should abandon the entire plan.
There was too much old hurt here. It was ridiculous to think I could just set that aside because a man had a lickable stomach and could kiss like a god.
“I used to know a lot.” His voice was soft, the words extended like an olive branch between us in the kitchen, and they made me freeze.
Behind me, he started peeling carrots, the peeler making a rhythmic whooshing sound.
I took a long, careful breath while he continued to speak.
“I used to know the way your eyes lit up when you talked about this Faire, and how it was the best part of your summer. The way your nose scrunches up when you laugh, and the way you get this little dimple on your right cheek when you smile.”
I slowly set the butter knife down, but I didn’t turn to face him. I couldn’t. Not yet.
“I used to know that you hated wearing your hair down. It was always clipped up or braided back.”
“It went with the costume.” My protest was automatic, but my voice was small.
“Not just in costume. In street clothes too.”
I nodded. “You’d take the clip out of my hair,” I said. “You’d let it fall down.”
“Your hair was always so pretty. Is. Is so pretty.” His voice was hushed now, and when had the air in this kitchen become so close?
“I remember everything, Caitlin. I thought I’d forgotten, but seeing you again brought it all back.
Kissing you again…” He broke off with an almost gasp, as though he’d said too much.
He had said too much. But I wanted him to say more.
“Alex.” His name fell from my mouth as I turned around.
He’d finished peeling and had moved on to slicing the carrots into neat coins.
But he stopped now, his eyes moving up to mine.
My breath stalled as his gaze dropped to my mouth, and I unconsciously pressed my lips together, wetting them with my tongue.
“Caitlin.” My name was a harsh whisper, and his eyes burned into mine as he carefully put down the knife. The air between us all but crackled, and I knew, I just knew, that all I had to do was say the word, and he’d come through that kitchen island to get to me.
And I held on tight to that armor around my heart, because I really wanted him to.