Her lips twitch. “Yes, so damn sore.”
I spend the next twenty minutes cooking the peas, broccoli and cauliflower I find in her freezer while also making gravy from the pan juice. Callie’s eyes track my every movement. I know this because she talks non-stop the entire time, telling me how her mother could have forewarned me that this dinner would be a complete failure. She also tells me how her sister, Melissa, is everything her mother ever wanted in a daughter, while she is a big disappointment to both her parents.
When I finally place the meal on the table, I say, “It would have been a lie if your mother had told me this dinner would be a failure because I’m having the best time I’ve had in a long while.”
She sighs as she spoons peas onto her plate. “How do you always say the exact right thing, Luke Hardy?”
I chuckle. “You never used to think that way.” I take the dish of peas off her as she passes it.
“Well, that was before I got to know the real you. And something tells me that there are so many layers to the real Luke, that I’m only just getting started.”
After we finish loading our plates with food, I ask, “How many times did you practice cooking this?”
She pulls a face as if she’s pained to tell me. “Three times.”
“Fuck, Callie. Roast is expensive, and you can’t afford that at the moment.” While I’m annoyed she wasted that money on me, my body is alive with want. Actions speak louder than words, and Callie’s actions scream so loudly. This woman wants me enough to give up something precious.
“I can afford whatever I choose. I do have savings,” she says a little snappishly. And then her voice softens when she adds, “I wanted the first meal I cooked you to be perfect.”
“Perfect is overrated. I prefer real,” I murmur.
“Well, you got real. This is the real me. I can’t cook for shit and I’m no domestic goddess, but I can keep indoor plants alive, am always on time and can play any song you want on the guitar. If none of those things are of any use to you, feel free to bow out now.”
I grin. “You can’t get rid of me that easy. Besides, I think guitar skills are an underrated commodity in this world. Making people smile should be at the top of everyone’s priorities, and I’m fairly sure most people smile when they listen to music.”
“Shut up, Luke. Stop talking, because seriously, you’re just digging yourself deeper into my swoon cave, and I might pass out from all that swooning.”
“What the hell is a swoon cave?”
“That is secret women’s business. Now, be quiet and eat.” She is too damn cute when she tries to boss me around.
We eat in silence for a good minute before she starts talking again. I figured it wouldn’t take her long to break her own directive—I’m convinced Callie could talk under water.
“How did you know I love Ron Pope? I know you said you pay attention, but when? When did I ever bring him up?”
“Do you remember that time you and Avery went to see that local band? The one that does covers of his songs?”
She’s quiet while thinking. When she finally remembers, her eyes light up. “Yes! But that was like seven or so months ago.”
“So?”
“So, you’ve remembered that all this time?”
“I have a good memory, Callie.”
Her eyes narrow. “What else do you know about me that I don’t know you know?”
; “Fuck, that’s a riddle.”
“Well?” She watches me expectantly, as if she doesn’t think I know anything.
I put my cutlery down and rest my elbows on the table. Holding her gaze, I say, “For reasons unknown to me, you love Taylor Swift; you’re a Netflix addict, with comedy, crime and documentaries being your favourite; you love going to see live music; you love visiting the markets on Sundays and especially love churros from there; the beach is one of your favourite places in the world; you love going to the movies and also to art galleries; surprisingly you love both country music and heavy metal; and you prefer to support indie artists rather than mainstream. You don’t back down easily when you’re passionate about something or believe you’re right, but you will begrudgingly admit when you’re wrong. You have a fantastic sense of humour. You like to go out a lot, but you also seem to be a homebody at times. You hate wearing heels but will put yourself through hell to impress a man. Oh, and you ask a lot of fucking questions. All the time.”
She’s stopped eating and is staring at me in shock. When she speaks, her voice is shaky. “Where the hell have you been all my life? Even the guy I dated for years probably didn’t know all that.”
A rush of possessive dominance hits me. The thought of another man with his hands on her twists in my gut. But I have no right to say the things I want to say to her about other men because she has to deal with my past more than I have to deal with hers. So, I change the subject instead. “Your mother? You’re not close?”