Page 51 of Bean
I couldn’t wait.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JAREK
“Extra virgin olive oil.”
I stared at the rows upon rows of oils, then looked over at Bean, who was frowning and rubbing his chin. “Are you sure I need?—”
“I’m sure. Trust me.”
“Okay, but you do understand I’m never going to be a gourmet chef, right? Like, we’ll be lucky if I can manage a scrambled egg by the end of all this.”
His face softened as he turned to me. “Have faith in yourself. I never would’ve thought I’d be good at…” His voice lowered to nothing as he mouthed, “blowjobs.” I held back a laugh as he shrugged. “But here we are.”
I was so goddamn charmed. I reached out and brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. “Here we are.”
He met me with a smile, and I got lost in his gaze before I realized we were standing in the middle of a grocery store aisle. Granted, it was a little bougie market with imported everything, just a few steps below Erewhon, and there wasn’t a soul in sight, but I also knew that Bean was still working on being comfortably queer with himself.
I wasn’t about to push anything public on him. Our date—and it had definitely been a date—had been a big step for him. I didn’t want to push it.
Clearing my throat, I stepped back and returned my gaze to the shelf. “So…”
“You know we can get all of this a heck of a lot cheaper at Trader Joe’s, right?”
“Yeah, but I can’t let myself shop there. If we do, I’ll get a bottle of olive oil, three vegetables, and then spend the rest of my budget on frozen meals.”
He grimaced.
“Exactly,” I told him. “So, snobby, overpriced oil it is. Besides, I’m not on a strict budget right now. Just pick something good.”
He bit his lip, his cheeks a little flushed, then he reached out and grabbed a bottle, tossing it into the cart next to the pile of vegetables he’d insisted I buy, the carton of farm-fresh brown eggs because he was determined to teach me how to make an edible omelet, a small collection of meat, and a crusty baguette that he’d been eyeing with hungry eyes, so I’d grabbed it and insisted we add it to our dinner plans.
This wasn’t a date. Not exactly. It was a cooking lesson, but it felt like something more. When he first suggested it, my instinct was to decline. Not because I didn’t want to learn but because it made the whole thing with Bean feel transactional. But when I agreed, his face lit up like a damn Christmas tree, and I found myself wanting to make him light up all the time.
It was wrong. Dangerous. My heart wasn’t broken, but it was bruised and still tender after giving it to the wrong man for so many years. Yet I found myself craving Bean like I hadn’t craved anyone.
Gio had never made me want like this. He’d never made me feel alive like this.
“You okay?”
I realized I’d been quiet for too long. Clearing my throat, I grabbed the cart, and we headed for the aisle full of rice and dried pasta. “Sorry. In my head a little.”
He laughed quietly and set his hand next to mine on the cart handle. “If anyone knows what that’s like, it’s me.”
I grinned at him as we made our way to the imported packages of pasta wrapped in paper. He wrinkled his nose as he looked at them all.
“Doesn’t this place carry any regular stuff?”
I laughed. “Not for these prices. Oh look, gnocchi. Have you made that before?”
“A couple of times,” he said, snagging the package. “Let’s save it for a colder night.”
That implied he’d be around for colder nights, and god, that went right to my core. I wanted him with a ferocity that was hard to contain. Grabbing a few more pasta shapes off the shelf, I loaded the cart and let him take me to the sauces.
“You’re not going to make me do my own?”
Bean laughed. “Neither of us has an Italian grandmother with a secret recipe. The stuff in the jar is fine.” He grabbed a couple, studied the labels, then added them to the bounty.