“I know that.”
“Don’t tell me,” I say. “It bothers you that you changed your mind.”
“A little.”
My heart drops. He loves me. He changed his mind on relationships for me.
But it’s bothering him.
Still so much I don’t know.
He avoids relationships for a reason—a reason I need to uncover if I’m ever going to truly know him.
Uncovering it will be a huge task—one I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to complete.
One thing’s for sure. This has made me forget, if only for a few minutes, about the shitty day I had.
I sigh. “I made this meal. Will you please sit down and eat it with me?”
He trails his index finger over my lower lip. “Of course.”
I hold back another sigh. “Have a seat, then, and open the wine, okay? I’ll serve the dinner.” I walk back to the kitchen.
I spoon rice onto plates and then take the lid off the étouffée.
And my heart sinks.
I meant to turn off the burner. I was sure I had, but in a kitchen I’m not used to, I turned the knob the wrong way.
My étouffée has cooked down to nothing except some rubbery shrimp and a sauce the consistency of wallpaper paste.
Ruined.
Completely ruined.
I choke back a sob.
I’ve never cried in front of Braden, but I fear I won’t be able to stop myself now.
I lost Tessa today.
I did a half-assed Instagram post.
I’m losing myself.
And now this.
My dinner—my beautiful dinner that I prepared for the man I love—is ruined.
I can’t serve Braden a plate of plain rice.
I slide to the floor, my dress riding up. My head falls into my hands as I work hard to hold back the sobs that really want to come pouring out of me.
How much time passes, I have no idea.
But eventually, Braden’s jeans-clad legs appear in front of me. “Skye?”
Then the tears come.
I can’t stop them.
I try. Truly I do. I heave and gasp and try to swallow them into nothingness.
None of it works.
He drops down next to me and touches my cheek. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s ruined. Dinner is ruined.”
“What happened?”
“Instead of turning the burner off, I turned it to high. Much longer and it would have scorched the bottom, and your whole penthouse would smell like burned étouffée.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. Not even slightly. It was delicious, Braden. The best étouffée I ever made, and I ruined it.”
“I’ll take you out. Wherever you want to go.”
“Nowhere. I don’t want to go anywhere. This day can just go to hell.”
“Surely you can’t be this upset over a burned dish.”
“I am.”
“Skye… Don’t lie to me.”
I erupt then, like Mount St. Helens. I pour out everything that happened today. How I lost my best friend. How I nearly forgot to do my first post under my new contract and how I feel it’s half-assed. How I snapped a bunch of photos while I was cooking dinner, and how I can’t post any of them because said dinner is ruined. How he’s bothered by the fact that he’s not bothered that I’m here.
All of it.
Fucking all of it.
Tears roll down my cheeks. I sniff back the snot that wants to pour from my nose. I know I look atrocious—face red, eyes swollen—but I can’t stop.
I can’t fucking stop.
Then something happens. Something I don’t expect.
Braden sits down next to me, pulls me into his arms so I’m sobbing into his shoulder, kisses the top of my head, and says, “It’s okay, baby. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Time passes in some kind of a warp. I have no idea how long we sit there, but eventually my sobs soften, I’m breathing more regularly, and I feel…comforted.
Truly comforted.
I don’t recall feeling like this since I was a small child sitting on my father’s lap after that horrible day in the cornfield.
And I love Braden all the more.
He holds me, never letting go, until finally I pull back slightly.
“I have to blow my nose.”
He pulls a handkerchief out from his pocket and hands it to me. I blow unceremoniously into it, nearly filling it, and then I crumple it in my fist. I meet his gaze. His blue eyes are kind. Full of love. A look I’ve never seen on his face before.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I wanted to make you a wonderful dinner.”
“You did.”
“It doesn’t count if you don’t get to eat it.”
He smiles. That smile I see so seldom and love so much.
“What can I do for you? How can I make this day better for you?”
I sniffle and meet his loving gaze.
I know just what to ask for, what will help me put this day of misery behind me.
“You can take me to New York.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
He kisses me tenderly on the lips. “Okay, Skye. You win. We’ll go to New York.”
The anvil rises from my shoulders. New York. Braden’s club. I’ll find peace there.