Page 12 of On Her Terms
“I wonder if we ever ran into each other, attended any of the same parties.”
“The guys in their Oxford hoodies.” I wave my fork. “I couldn’t tell one apart from the other. You all looked alike.”
“Ah, the hoodies. They were all the rage back then. I wore mine to every party.”
“I remember,” I say. Then when his eyes lift to mine, I add, “I mean I remember the hoodies. I don’t remember you in one at any party.” Wow, for a girl who hates to lie, I’m really nailing it here. “By the way, these pancakes are delicious,” I add, wanting to change the conversation.
“Come back for dinner. I make a mean carbonara.”
I reach for my coffee and take a sip. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a guy who could cook.”
He quirks one brow. God, could he be any more adorable? “No? What kind of guy would you take me for?”
“A guy who has others cook for him.” On campus, rumor had it he was extremely wealthy, but no one really knew much about him. Funny, now that I think about it, he really kept his private life...private. I’m guessing that hasn’t changed, since he chose to stay in the chalet, away from the rest of us. “I guess I just assumed.”
“Assumption is the mother of all screwups,” he says with a wink, then adds, “I’ve been single a long time. It was either learn to cook or starve.”
“You made the right choice, and now, lucky for me, I’m reaping the benefits from it.”
“My mom is a true Italian who loves to cook. I spent hours in the kitchen with her when I was young. We’re still close.” I look down at the mention of his mom, as memories of my own fill me with heartache. “Brianna? What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing. What about your father?” I ask, and then kick myself for veering into the personal.
He looks down, pain ghosting his eyes. “We lost Dad and my brother at the same time. Car accident.”
I touch his arm. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” His gaze meets mine. “What about you? Are you close to your parents?”
I sigh... No point in lying in this regard. “My Dad left when I was young, and my mother sort of checked out after that. She died a couple of years ago.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been very hard on you.”
“I miss her terribly. Miss who she was before it all happened.” Long before she was physically gone, she was both emotionally and mentally gone from my life. I try to inject a bit of humor into my voice. “Unlike your mother, she wasn’t Italian or a good cook. At least I didn’t have to eat her food after she checked out on me.”
He smiles at me, and I get the sense he can tell I’m making light of things. “You did the cooking?”
“Yeah, and I wasn’t very good at it, either. A chip off the old block,” I say and slide another piece of pancake into my mouth. The taste explodes on my tongue.
“But you can make a mean apple pie, right?”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “No, Tate was kidding. I actually burnt down the kitchen the only time I tried. I mean, the pie might have been good, before the firemen doused it.”
He laughs out loud. “You’re kidding me?”
“I wish I was.” We both go quiet for a moment. “You said you’ve been single for a long time. Are you anti-marriage, too?”
He looks down, stares into his coffee cup like it holds all the answers in the universe. His muscles bunch, the tension in his body taking up space between us. God, he’s suddenly strung so tightly, I’m afraid something is going to pop.
He leans away from the countertop, presenting calm even though there is a storm going on in his eyes, and his nostrils are flaring. “I’m not opposed to marriage,” he says. “If it was with the right person, you know?”
What the hell does he mean by that? Was he married before, to the wrong person? I wouldn’t judge—I was nearly engaged to the wrong guy once. Ryan was so temperamental, it was almost a relief to catch him cheating on me with his sister’s friend. Good riddance, asshole. I’m curious about Luca but it’s not my business, nor do I want to make it mine, so I don’t ask.
A noise outside the chalet gains my attention. As the guests wake up and begin their activities, I finish the last bite of my breakfast. “I’ll help you with the dishes and get out of your way.”
“You’re not in my way, Brianna,” he says, and my gaze flies to his when he takes my hand. “I was serious about tonight,” he says, his mood changing. “Come back. I’ll cook for you, even give you a few lessons.”
My gaze meanders to his bare chest, and I take in his bronzed skin, the hard grooves my fingers itch to touch again. “I...” Oh God, how tempting. But this has already gone too far. I’m out of my element as it is. I pull my hand free, stand and take my plate to the sink. “I can’t. I told Granddad I’d have dinner with him tonight. I haven’t spent a lot of time with him lately, and he’s not well.”