“Your dad didn’t like that idea?”
“New York is home to him. He knows it inside and out. It was unfathomable to venture outside the box. My dad can be ridiculous.”
The skillet hisses as he heats it up. His gaze roams down my front, cataloging every inch of me.
“At least you have a father.”
“Yours is gone?”
“He died in prison,” he says with no emotion. “Mr. Kincaid was like the father I always wanted, but he died too.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “You wanted to take over the magazine one day?”
“It was my hope I could buy it from Dad. But he sold it before I had the chance. Not that it would have mattered. No one was going to loan an eighteen-year-old kid that kind of money for a company. I was delusional to even hope.”
He scowls at me. “Opportunities come when you least expect them. It’s not bad to hope. At least you have that.”
“You’re hopeless?”
He bows his head. “I was.”
“Now?”
“Not now.”
I don’t press him on what that means, but I feel as though it has something to do with me. I’ve sucked down my entire drink by the time he finishes up the French toast. I smile, touched at the care he puts into the meal, from the evenly sprinkled powdered sugar dusted on the toast to the fancily cut strawberries on the side. He sets our plates down and then refills our drinks. I’m starving, so I don’t waste time, digging right in. As soon as the bite hits my mouth, I groan.
“This is amazing,” I praise as soon as I swallow. “Truly.”
It’s then it happens.
The smile.
Small at first.
A tiny crack of light. It slowly widens into an explosive, bright grin that illuminates the entire kitchen. All I can do is stare, blinded by it. So damn beautiful.
“I love to cook,” he says, efficiently cutting his food into perfect bite-sized pieces. “Especially for other people. Now that Dante’s moved away, I have no one to do it for.”
My heart aches for him.
“You miss him.”
He nods. “He’s like the brother I never had.”
“Where did he go?”
“Brigs Ferry Bay. It’s a coastal tourist town in Maine just a few hours north of Portland. He and his sister are opening a bed and breakfast there.”
“Do you visit him often?”
“Not yet, though he keeps asking.” He smiles again, this one not as bright, but warm as he thinks of his friend. “I’ll make it up there one day just to shut him up.”
Being in Adrian’s environment, learning tiny tidbits of his life, a sense of contentment washes over me. I haven’t dated much, but I imagine being with someone you really like would feel like this.
“So why here? I like it. It’s quaint. I just don’t understand,” I say once I’ve polished off my entire meal.
His features harden and he shrugs. “It’s home.”
I want to ask more, but the frosty façade has frozen him to his core. Helplessly, I watch as he stacks our dishes and carries them over to the sink. Needing to fix whatever it is I accidentally broke, I slide off my chair and make my way over to him. I step up to him and hug him from behind, resting my cheek between his shoulder blades.
“I’m sorry,” I croak out.
“What for?”
“Upsetting you.”
Tension bleeds from him. “I’m not upset.”
“I just want to know you, is all. I didn’t mean to pry.”
Tenderly, he strokes his fingers over my hands that are clasped together, resting on his abs. “I…It’s just…”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“What if the success disappears tomorrow?” he blurts out, his voice shaky and afraid. “I could afford this when I first started at the magazine, long before I owned it. So if…so if it fails, I could still afford to live here.”
He’s absolutely insane for thinking that because the magazine makes a shit ton of money. His bank account is probably exploding with cash. I understand, though, the uncertainty. That’s something I contend with every day.
My future.
My dreams.
My love life.
“I feel that way too,” I admit. “Like next week you might let me go and then no one will want me. I’ll be forced to be an Uber driver or work at Macy’s because I never went to college, pouring every ounce of energy into my dream that was ripped right out from under my feet.”
He grabs my hands, pulling them off him, and then turns to face me. His features are furious. With gentleness that contradicts his anger, he clutches my throat, caressing his thumb along the side.
“I’m not letting you go. You were right. You’re the best thing to happen to me.”
I wait for him to correct his words, stating I’m the best thing for the magazine. He doesn’t. His gaze slides down to my lips. I lick them, moistening them out of a nervous habit.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Adrian says, confusion glittering in his eyes. “I want to know you because you’re my assistant, but I also want to…”