Rock Bottom (Dawson Family 6)

“Well, you never know.” I look at my tiny kitchen and bite the inside of my cheek. I am cooking for a man, and but I don’t know if this chicken is going to be enough to keep him from leaving in the morning. “It’s pretty easy to make, right?”

“If you can follow a basic recipe, yes.”

“That’s debatable.”

“You assist with surgery. That’s a scary thought.”

“Helping cut people open is way more fun.”

“You cut them open, Sam puts them to sleep, Mason hunts criminals, and today Jacob told me he had his arm elbow-deep in a horse’s ass.”

“When you say it like that, we sound really cool.”

Dad laughs. “You know how proud your mother and I are of you.”

“You did a pretty good job raising me.”

“It was mostly your mother,” he laughs. “Enjoy the chicken tonight.”

“I will. Thanks Dad. Love you.”

“Love you too, honey.”

I end the call and wait a few minutes for Dad to send me the recipe. I make a grocery list, twist my damp hair into a bun, and pull on a hat. Eastwood didn’t get the snow that was predicted, but after spending my days in eighty-degree weather and full sun, I’m freezing. I speed through grocery shopping, wanting to get back home with plenty of time to do my hair and makeup before needing to start dinner.

Sticking the two bottles of red Moscato that I grabbed at the store in the fridge, I go into the bathroom and spend way too much time doing my hair and makeup. But I look good at least.

I left my phone on the kitchen counter and missed a text from Dean.

Dean: My last clients had to reschedule their meeting. I’ll be wrapping things up at the office soon. Are you up? I can bring you coffee.

Me: I’m up and I’ve had enough coffee to kill a whale already. Be here in forty-five minutes? I’ll have dinner ready :-)

Dean: Half an hour? I miss you.

I can’t help the stupid smile that comes over my face.

Me: I suppose I can let it slide. I’ll start cooking now.

I set the phone back down and run around like crazy, vacuuming and hiding my pile of dirty laundry in the closet. I light my favorite peony-scented candle and put lemongrass oil in the diffuser in my bedroom.

“I am not trying too hard,” I tell Figaro. He’s sitting on the table, tail swishing back and forth. “Keep up that sass and you are not getting the fat trimmings from the chicken.” I pull out all the ingredients I need and read over Dad’s text with the recipe. “Besides, I’m still not sure where things are headed,” I go on. “I like him, and I’m really hoping he spends the night, but…” I let out a sigh. “I just don’t know.”

Figaro jumps up on the counter when I start trimming the chicken. I push him off with my elbow and he comes right back. I give up, quickly wash the raw chicken germs off my hands, and lock him in the bathroom until I’m done. He comes running, leaping onto the counter as soon as I let him out.

“If Dean sees you all over the counter, he’s not going to want to eat anything I make him, you know.” I pick up the black-and-white cat and set him down by his food bowl, showing him the little pieces of chicken I saved.

I turn on music and pour myself a small glass of Moscato as I cook. The chicken is almost done when Dean knocks on the door.

“He’s here!” I whisper to Figaro, who’s sleeping on the couch and doesn’t so much as bat an eye. I give the counter a frantic wipe down, smooth out my hair, and take a deep breath.

Then I open the door, smiling as soon as I see Dean.

“Hello, good sir,” I say, suddenly donning a British accent.

“Good morrow, my lady.” He dramatically bows and I laugh. “Dinner smells good.”

“Thanks.” I take his coat from him and hang it up in the little closet at the front of the apartment. Figaro will lie on it if I put it over the back of the chair in my living room. “It’s one of my favorites, but I haven’t made it myself in, well, ever.”

“Should we order a pizza as backup?” he teases.

“Way to have faith,” I shoot back. Dean follows me to the kitchen, and I go right to the fridge to get out the wine. “How was work?” I ask as I get out two glasses. “Do you want some? I didn’t think about getting anything else. I don’t really know what else to get.”

“Sure, and work was fine. I had a lot of office work to do today, catching up on what I missed. It was nice to have my last meeting moved today. I meant it when I said I miss you.” I hand him a glass of wine and he takes a drink, making a face. “This is really sweet.”