What the fuck are you doing?
He shoved his hands in his pockets. There was no way he’d be able to take off right now. That shit was for kids, and he wasn’t a child anymore.
Seconds passed, and when he thought he’d given it a shot and she clearly hadn’t heard, the door opened. She had a towel in her hand, rubbing at her damp hair.
“Hector,” she said.
He loved her voice. It was rough, husky, and it made his dick ache. That was new.
“So, er, the way I figure it is that we need to learn to get along. It’s a coincidence that we’re living next door to one another and all that, but, how about I cook you dinner?” he asked. “I want us to make this … hospitable.”
She stared at him, lips pursed. “You’re right. I don’t want to be worried about our paths crossing like I did back in high school. Dinner tonight.”
“Great, I’ll cook some st … tofu,” he said.
Verity chuckled. “You watched me?”
“Er, yeah, I saw that you’d gone vegan. You tried it for the month and then stuck at it, right?”
She smiled, and he was completely blown away. Verity hadn’t smiled at him once since they’d moved in next door to each other a few weeks ago.
“Truce?” he asked, holding his hand out for her to take.
She hesitated and then nodded. “Fine. Truce.” She put her hand within his, and Hector didn’t know if she felt it, but he certainly did. It was like a spark shook through his palm, going up his body. She pulled away first.
“Seven, tonight, my place,” he said, pointing at his front door, and wanting to wince at how cheesy he sounded. He wasn’t this kind of guy.
“See you then, Hector.” She closed her door, and he didn’t move for several seconds.
Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fucking fuck.
He didn’t have the first clue how to cook. This was a disaster.
Hector ran back into his house. The best he knew to do was takeout. Why did he have to ask her for dinner at his place? He could have quite easily asked her out to dinner to a restaurant.
This was going to be bad.
So very bad.
He grabbed his phone from the bed, pulled up the internet search, found her website, and typed in tofu. A long list of dishes loaded, and he picked the first. There was a list of ingredients, which made his life so much easier.
“Thank you for the net,” he said, going back downstairs, grabbing his car keys, and heading out. Within seconds, he was in his car, on the road toward the supermarket. A shop he hadn’t been inside since he was a teenager and helped his mom out from time to time.
“I can do this,” he said, parking and glancing at the large store.
It would be a piece of cake.
Cell phone in hand, he grabbed a cart and headed inside. The shop was a maze. He’d never … it was … there was no layout that made sense.
The shopping list made sense, but the shop, he was so far out of his depth. He was determined to not screw this up. With a winning smile, he approached the first worker he came to, and within thirty minutes, he had everything he needed and was back in his car, returning home.
Feeling rather proud of himself, he waved at several passing neighbors, only to get outside of his home and to panic once again.
If the shopping was a job, now he had to … cook.
With the bags of groceries in hand, he walked through the door, going to the dreaded place in his home. All he had in the cupboards were cereal and pickles.
“I can do this. I’m going to do this.” He wasn’t a quitter.
There was nothing he hadn’t done in his life that he hadn’t set his mind to. Dinner for two would be perfect.
****
Dresses were out.
Verity stared at her reflection in the mirror and sighed. Dinner with Hector shouldn’t be this hard to dress for.
“What do you think, Cutie?”
Her small Jack Russell Terrier looked up from her cozy position on the bed. That was all Cutie was going to do for the entire evening—rest. She adored her dog.
“You’re a beautiful woman. You don’t need anyone to tell you how amazing you are. People will break you down if you let them. Get that bubble, embrace yourself, and become the stunning woman I know you to be.”
She smiled thinking about her mother’s words from just before she died. All her life, her biggest supporter had been her mother, and it was because of her that she was writing her first-ever cookbook.
Rather than hide her curvy body like she had, feeling ashamed of her curves, she’d learned to embrace them. Sometimes she had comments on the internet telling her to put her tits away, but she didn’t care. They were never on display. The shirts and dresses she wore showcased them, and she loved her body. No one was going to tell her what to do with it. Not anymore.