Page 9 of Silver Foxed

A lump forms in my throat. Who is this man, and where the hell did he come from? We don’t know each other, but I one-hundred-percent believe that he would’ve accepted me coming at him with a knife had it been in self-defense. Maybe it’s because I’m his friend’s daughter, but I get an odd feeling it’s more than that.

“Good thing I’m safe with you, then,” I say honestly.

His self-assured gaze falters for a split second, but then he smiles gently. “Good thing.”

Chills zip up my spine, and my toes curl against the hardwood floor. I decide it’s time to eat—otherwise, we’ll stand here all night saying weird things to each other while I try to figure out if he’s into me or if he just wants to take care of me because he knows my dad.

“Will you take our wine to the dining table?” I ask. “I’ll plate everything up and bring it over.”

“Of course.” He picks up the broad-based glasses dutifully as I turn my focus to the chicken cacciatore. After I have everything plated how I like, I walk it slowly over to the way-too-beautiful man sitting at the table.

He watches my every move as I set the food down in front of him. I try to ignore how it feels, how every part of me tingles with his focus on me like that, but it’s hard to do. So once the food is out of my hands, I head to the kitchen to grab a salad from the fridge I’d made earlier and take a deep breath. When I arrive back at the table, Elijah is eyeing his dinner plate like it’s the Eighth Wonder of the World.

“Go ahead, eat,” I tell him as I take the seat at the head of the table with him to my right. I smooth out my purple-colored skirt of the sundress I put on and place my napkin over my lap.

Elijah looks up from his plate, and in place of his intense gaze is pure excitement. “This looks beautiful.”

“It’s nothing,” I say, reaching for my fork.

As I pick it up, his hand covers mine. “It’s not nothing,” Elijah says.

I stare at his warm hand over mine, the veins prominent as he squeezes. Without thinking of it, I flip my hand over, and our palms meet. To my surprise, he takes the offering and holds my hand with steady pressure as I look at his handsome face.

His smile is sincere and gentle as he says, “Really, Alex. I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me. Thank you.” Then he pulls back his hand, and I’m left staring at my now burning palm, feeling as if he marked me somehow with that simple touch and his gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” I reply quietly, trying to get it together. I grab my wine and take a sip, hoping the alcohol can knock some sense into me.

There is no reason for me to be so attracted to Elijah. He’s my dad’s friend, for one. He also works with him.

And there’s the little fact that he’s older than me, though that doesn’t really matter. I’ve always said that if people are consenting adults, they can do what they want. But I know my dad would take issue with it.

I dated a man in his mid-fifties once, when I was twenty-five. Dad hated it, and I get why from his perspective since the man was close to his age. But that relationship was stable and fun. We didn’t work out in the end because we had different plans for our lives. He already had children and didn’t want more. I, on the other hand, knew I wanted babies. That desire has only grown as the years have gone on.

Sean’s face enters my mind for a split second, and I take another sip of wine. Nope, we’re not thinking about him. Or any of my exes, for that matter. Not when I have a man who I think is single in front of me. Because I for sure have already double-checked for a ring, and there isn’t one.

I give my full attention back to Elijah as he brings a forkful of food to his mouth, his eyelids closing as his lips wrap around the metal of the fork. I don’t miss the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth as he chews.

When a gentle moan reaches my ears, the tips of them turn pink, and I swear a bolt of electricity hits my clit.

“You like it?” I ask, my voice breathier than I expected it to be.

He savors the flavor of it for another moment before opening his eyes. “‘Like’ is an understatement. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

I think I go into a full-body blush. Something I can’t hide because of my fair skin, a trait I’ve been told I inherited from my mom’s side of the family.

“That can’t be true. If you’re friends with my dad, you’ve been to the best restaurants in the city. Maybe even the world.”

At the mention of my dad, Elijah seems to tense a bit, and I make a mental note to mention him as little as possible. Especially since I want to explore this buzzing attraction between us.

“Oliver does have expensive taste. But I prefer meals that are made with love. And this,” he says with conviction, pointing his fork at his plate, “has been made with love.”

Yep, I’ve definitely turned the color of the tomato sauce. “That’s really nice of you.” I exhale, trying to calm my blush. “I’ve been so busy I haven’t had the chance to cook recently. But I do love it. Especially when I can cook for other people.”

I take a bite of my own food and let out a little groan myself as the rich sauce hits my taste buds.

Elijah clears his throat and shifts in his chair. “What have you been busy with?” he asks, sounding genuine. “If you don’t mind sharing.”

I shake my head and swallow. “No, not at all.” I take another sip of my wine as I think of how to answer this question. “I was engaged until about six months ago. We broke it off, which created a lot of chaos.”

---