Page 67 of Sweet Little Thing

Frowning at my train of thought, I went into the bedroom and dropped my purse on the bed before changing into a pair ofblack leggings and an oversized gray sweatshirt that said Ireland across the front in green. I’d bought it for one dollar at a thrift store three years ago. It was one of my favorite comfort pieces.

Deciding I too would go barefoot, I made my way toward the kitchen. The music had been turned off by the time I arrived. Pity, I had enjoyed hearing the songs that reminded me of a happier time in my life.

Stepping inside the kitchen, my gaze immediately went to Stone. He was filling a plate with what looked like a pasta dumpling and salad. His gaze lifted to mine, and a pleased smile touched his lips. “I think it turned out good. I’ll let you be the judge of that, though. Haven’t made these in a few years. They were one of Gerry’s favorites when I was a kid. She taught me to make them.”

Again, when he said her name, I could clearly hear the love in his voice. I couldn’t say Stone was always as impenetrable as his name suggested. When he allowed his softer side to show if only for a moment it was powerful.

“It smells delicious,” I assured him.

“You ever had pierogi?” he asked, setting one plate down and picking up the second one. His eyes were still on me.

“No,” I admitted.

“Good,” he said as he finished preparing the plate. “You won’t have anything to compare it to. Less pressure on me.”

“If it taste as good as it smells, I’m sure it’ll be wonderful. Can I help you do something?”

“Wine. I usually have a chardonnay with pierogi carbonara. A sauvignon blanc is good too. But stay away from reds. Never enjoyed the combination.”

I had no idea how to choose wine. Even when I was told what kind to choose, they were all the same to me. But I didn’t say as much. Instead, I went to the large wine rack beside his bar and looked for either of the two wines he’d mentioned. I figured I’dgo with the first I found. Different wineries meant little to me.

Glancing at the wines, I only saw reds. Then I remembered that the Van Allans kept their whites in a wine cooler thing. I checked for one and found it behind what appeared to be an elaborate cabinet door. The chilled white wines lined the racks inside. I quickly found a chardonnay, pulled it out, and met Stone in the doorway. Both his hands were full. “Glasses and the wine opener are already on the table. Take it out there. I’m right behind you.”

I started to turn when his eyes went to the bottle, and he chuckled.

I glanced at the bottle, wondering what I’d done that was amusing. When he didn’t say anything else, I looked at him. “What’s wrong? You did say chardonnay?” I began wondering if I’d heard him correctly.

“Yes. I did. And you chose the cheapest bottle. It also happens to be my favorite. I’ve never had a female pick that bottle out. Most go for the Montrachet or the Coche-Dury Corton-Charlemagne.”

He could have been speaking a different language for all that meant to me. I could act like I knew wines but he liked honesty. I had no reason to try and impress this man. His judgement of me was already firmly in place.

“I just grabbed the first chardonnay I found.”

He chuckled some more. “Well, you’d have found five more bottles of the one you’re holding right now. I buy a bottle every time I go to Target.”

Target? Stone went to Target? “Really?” I asked, wondering if he was making a joke.

“Yes. Seems to be the only place in town that has it. I try to grab a bottle when I’m close by.”

The idea of Stone shopping at Target made me grin.

“Something funny?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes. You shopping at Target.”

He smirked then. “I like a good cake pop from Starbucks while I’m there too. Want to laugh about that?”

I did. I laughed loudly. I didn’t mean to, but I did. Stone with a Starbucks cake pop was hilarious. When I finally regained composure, I wiped the tears from my eyes and smiled at him. He was watching me. His expression was one I couldn’t read and was so brief; it was there for a moment, then gone. If it hadn’t been for the damn flutter in my stomach, I would have thought I imagined it all together.

Chapter

Forty-Two

Beulah

The crisp, cool wine was as appealing as the meal. Stone explained that the filled dumplings were popular in Eastern Europe and told me about the process of making them. Geraldine had been taught by a Polish friend of hers when she was a young woman. I ate and listened to him talk. As the wine relaxed me, the sound of Stone’s voice became richer, thicker, and more appealing.

That was not a good thing. I knew it and fought against it until my third glass of wine made me simply not care. It wasn’t my fault Stone had a nice voice. I had to accept it and ignore it. Right now, though, I would enjoy listening to him talk. It wasn’t hurting anyone.

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