Page 77 of First Comes Love

18

Afew minutes later, after I’d fetched myself an extremely cold glass of water, I was joined in the kitchen by Xavier and Sofia while I stood in front of the fridge trying to figure out what the hell to make. Sofia had changed into a purple princess costume with aquamarine sequins, while Xavier had long since shucked his suit jacket and tie, looking considerably more casual with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the tattoos twisting around one forearm. The effect, however, was balanced by a bright pink boa tied around his neck.

“Mama, I’m hungry,” Sofia complained as she climbed onto one of the barstools on the other side of the counter.

I looked up from the fridge and grinned when I caught sight of the two of them. “Well, don’t you two look dashing.”

Xavier reddened, but to his credit, made no move to remove the boa.

“How about spaghetti, Betty?” I asked, turning back to the fridge. “I can whip it up while you introduce Xavi to the wonders of Moana.”

“My name’s not Betty,” Sofia screwed her face up adorably like she always did when I made that terrible joke. “And we had that yesterday. We have that all the time. Can’t we have something else?”

I grimaced and looked back into the fridge. I wasn’t very good at improvising—had never had to be a good cook when we had several much better ones in my family. Nonna was a force, of course. Marie was getting there, and Matthew and Lea both knew their way around a stove. The best I could usually do was boxed pasta or some sandwiches—otherwise I was happy enough heating up my brother’s leftovers.

Except when I had a professional freaking chef to dinner.

Crap.

“Grilled cheese?” I suggested feebly.

“Let me.”

I turned to find Xavier at my elbow, one hand taking the top of the door so he could open it wider, essentially caging me against the opening. His broad chest just barely brushed my shoulder blades. Despite being caged against the cold, I was suddenly very hot.

“Sorry. We don’t have much. I, um, wasn’t expecting you to come over today.” Again, that salty-sweet scent of his made it very hard to think.

“I know,” he said gruffly, apparently oblivious to my sudden stupor. He reached around me to grab several items off the door, then started pawing through the crispers. “Excuse me.”

Obediently, I stepped back, as much to find my bearings again as to allow him to forage. At least I’d cleaned it out before Matthew had left. Still, this was getting absurd. I had invited him here to meet his daughter, not put me in a tizzy. I needed to get a hold of myself.

“This was my favorite meal when I was about your age,” Xavier said as he turned around and set out a bunch of different ingredients on the counter beside the stove. “We’re going to do it a bit funny, but I think it will taste all right.”

He started to turn on the stove, but before he did, he tipped his head at me, clearly indicating that I needed to be on the other side of the counter with Sofia. “Off you go.”

“Oh!” Happily, I scurried around and took the other stool.

Together, Sofia and I watched as Xavier removed his boa and gave it to Sofia. She and I both watched eagerly as he found one of the aprons Matthew stashed in the pantry and quickly tied it around his trim waist. This was clearly his comfort zone. Every movement he made was efficient and graceful.

“Anchovies?” I said as I looked over the assembled ingredients while Xavier located a mixing bowl from one of the cabinets. “I promise she won’t like those, and neither do I. Fish, remember?”

Xavier tossed the small jar onto the counter next to a bag of coleslaw mix I’d grabbed on sale, a bunch of green onions, plus mayonnaise, ketchup, and soy sauce I didn’t even know we had.

“You’ll like what I do with them,” he informed me.

“What’s anchovies?” Sofia wondered.

“Zio sometimes puts them in sauces,” I told her. “They’re a really salty fish.”

Sofia wrinkled her nose and looked like she was about to shout “Yuck!” and sprint out of the room. But then she turned to find Xavier watching her carefully. Her mouth dropped open, then closed again.

“I shall try it,” she announced formally and, if I wasn’t mistaken, using some odd accent that was intended to sound British. Then she folded her tiny hands neatly on the countertop and laid her chin on top of them like a prim poodle.

My eyebrows almost hit the roof. Boys of all ages were usually deemed “bozos” before she adjourned herself to find her dolls and lecture them all about the shortcomings of men. But right now, she was trying her hardest to impress our guest.

Well, I supposed it was fair. I was pretty sure he was trying to impress her too.

We watched intently as Xavier combined a few anchovies with pieces of onion, salt, and water in a saucepan, then set them on a hot burner before turning back.