Too Much Information (Awkward Love 3)

“But I said I’d start—”

“At eight. Now get out of here, before I change my mind.” He pauses for a moment, before looking back at me. “You’re a good doctor, Luke. You’ve got the passion and the drive to really make a difference, but you need to get it out of your head that being a cold, ruthless asshole is the only way you’re going to be successful. Stop comparing yourself to everyone else, or you won’t be helping anyone.”

#

I think about what Lewin said the whole drive home. He’s right about me needing to get out of my own head, but that’s easier said than done. I rub the back of my neck and then rest my head back against the seat as I’m forced to stop for a red light. My plan of seducing Laura has taken a steep dive in motivation, because all I really want to do is go home and climb into bed

No. You’re not going to waste the one chance you’ve had to spend time with her all week because you’re feeling sorry for yourself, I chastise myself.

I stop at the grocer’s and get everything I need to cook her dinner. By the time I get into the kitchen and start my preparations, I’m feeling better. I’m pretty impressed with myself, actually, because my risotto smells delicious. Maybe I have taken the wrong career path, because if this risotto is anything to go by, I should’ve become a chef.

I set the table outside on the balcony, complete with candles, and rose petals, then I stand there with my arms crossed and survey my work. There’s no denying I have talent. The front door opens, and I spring into action, quickly walking back inside.

“Hey, what are you doing home?” she asks, walking over to me. I kiss her, trying to block her view of outside. She narrows her eyes at me, my odd behavior tipping her off that I’m up to something. “I thought you had a late shift today?”

“I did, but I asked to finish early so that I could surprise you,” I say.

She looks past me, her eyes widening when she sees the flickering candles outside.

“What have you done?” she asks with a grin. She walks over to the door and slides it open, smiling back at me, as her eyes shine. “You did this for me?”

I nod. “I decided to recreate our own personal little dinner party.”

“Really?” She giggles and walks back over to me. “Does that mean you’re going to insult me and make inappropriate comments all night?” I wrap my arms around her and narrow my eyes at her.

“I told you, that’s how I get when I’m nervous.” I smirk at her. “So probably. Yes.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re lucky I forgive so easily.”

I raise my eyebrows at her.

“Really? I would’ve thought you’d hold a grudge until the very end.”

She giggles and kisses me on the lips. “You know me better than I thought you did.”

I watch for her reaction as we walk outside. My heart races when her eyes light up as she takes in how much trouble I’ve gone to. I pull out her seat for her, then push it back in once she sits down. She shakes her head, a look of amazement on her face.

“You worked all day and then you came home and did this?” she shakes her head. “I struggle to find the energy to order a pizza after a shift.”

“I wanted to do something nice for you,” I explain. I smile at her. “Be right back. I hope you’re hungry.”

I disappear back inside and over to the kitchen. I load our plates with risotto and then carry them out to the table. She smiles when I place hers down in front of her.

“That smells amazing,” she says.

She plays with her fork, eyeing her plate. I laugh.

“Go on.”

She sighs after her first mouthful and closes her eyes.

“God, it’s even better than it smells,” she mutters as she goes back for more. “Are you going to eat, or just stare at me?”

“Is that a legitimate option?” I chuckle and reach for my fork. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help it. You’re gorgeous.”

“This is perfect,” she says, smiling at me. “Thank you.”

“The key is to cook the rice just right.”

She laughs. “Not the food. Everything, you idiot.”

I slide my hand across the table and place it over hers.

“I’m glad you like it. I hope you saved room for dessert?”

“There’s always room for that.” She smothers a laugh. “Sorry, I was just picturing you on the couch when Matt walked in. The only thing missing was whipped cream.”

I raise my eyebrows at her. “How do you know there wasn’t any? You were late to the party, remember?”

“Oh, gross,” she cries. She stares at me, horrified. “Are you suggesting that my brother—”