“I know.” I spray the flat pan with olive oil and place it on the new Wolf gas range I installed last year, turning the flame on medium. “But I’m going to anyway.” I briefly glance her way and force a smile. “That’s what business partners do for each other.”
I don’t say friends. As much as I want to, I don’t. I swallow the bitter taste down because the last thing I want is to start another argument.
“You know how to cook?”
I place the salmon on the pan, shake some sea salt on, add some rosemary, and cover it. Next, I place the broccoli in the steam pot.
“Somebody had to after you left.”
And just like that the air between us becomes stale and heavy. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I sounded pissed, even to my own ears. Some men are born with a gift for screwing things up and I’m one of them. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and roll my tense shoulders.
“I didn’t mean that…What I meant to say was I had to eat so I had to learn.” I check her face to see what’s going on in her head, if I managed to fix what I broke, and she nods.
No surprise. Maren was always so quick to forgive me for all the crap I put her through…well, almost everything. “Why were you crying?”
All I get for a good long time is silence. Then she clears her throat. “I went to my parents’ house earlier for dinner.”
“Everything okay?”
More silence. It drags on and I let it. One false move and she’ll shut down and ask me to leave, so I don’t push. I slide the salmon off the pan, onto a plate, take the brown rice out of the microwave and put some next to it.
“They’ve never come to any of my matches. Not once. Not even Wimbledon.”
Her face is tight as she speaks, brows drawn together in deep thought. I want to kiss it away, press my body against hers and hold her, tell her it’s gonna be okay. I am trash for this woman, but I’ll be whatever she needs me to be if only she’d give me the chance.
“It’s been bothering me for a long time…I finally told them tonight.”
I fish the broccoli out of the steamer and dump it on the same plate. Already seated at the counter, I place the plate in front of her and she smiles.
“This looks amazing. Thank you.”
I grab the utensils out of the drawer, hand them to her. Our fingers tangle as she reaches for them and our eyes meet. It’s still there. There’s no denying it. I know she feels it too. And I know without a doubt she does when she pulls away quickly.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything to them?”
She takes another bite of her salmon, stalling. “It felt petty. What right did I have to make demands when Annabelle had lost so much…I was ashamed to say anything.”
I know something about shame. “Maren, it’s okay to need people. You don’t always have to be the strongest one in the room…you shouldn’t feel guilty about that.”
Our eyes hold for a beat, then hers slide down to the food and I get lost watching her eat it. Glistening with a smear of olive oil, her lips wrap around the fork. Her pink tongue darts out to lick it away and I nearly bust a nut.
“This is sooo good.” Her green eyes flash when she catches me staring at her mouth. I turn away and put the pots and pans into the sink, fill them with soapy water.
“Anyway, I lost it tonight. Stormed out in the middle of dinner…very dramatic,” she drawls sarcastically. “I’m sure my mother will let me have it tomorrow.”
I finish cleaning the pots and place them on the dish rack. Turning, I lean against the counter with my arms crossed, keeping a safe distance between us. I’m liable to do anything in the state I’m in and I don’t think she’d appreciate it.
“That Wimbledon match was––” Pride fills my chest, a smile spreads across my face just thinking about it. “You were really something.”
Her gaze slams into mine, curious, disbelieving. “You watched?”
“’Course I did. I always watch.” The words hang between us loaded with meaning, and as deadly as a gun pointed at my heart.
Her cheeks turn pink under her tan.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I don’t wait for her to reply. I’m already pushing off the counter and on my way to the door by the time the last word leaves me.
I know my limits. Having Maren so close now––it’s too much temptation and the truce between us is still fragile. I’ve told her I’ve changed, that I’m no longer the guy that jumps first and looks after. Now all I have to do is prove it.