Page 45 of Courting Clemson

“Are you kidding? My appetite usually enters the room before me, no matter where I go.” She smiled. “I can’t get over this apartment, Luke. Seriously.”

“Thank you. I’ve spent a lot of time getting it to be exactly what I want to come home to every night. Would you like something to drink? I have wine, beer, and of course non-alcoholic options as well.”

“Mmm… Wine sounds perfect.” She slid onto one of the stools at the island while I grabbed a glass from the rack overhead. I poured us both a glass and slid hers across the white quartz counter to where she sat watching my every move.

“Do you enjoy cooking?” she asked. “Something smells incredible.”

“I do. Mostly out of necessity, though. But it was something my mom and I used to do together, so it makes me feel close to her when I have a chance to make a meal like this.”

And how did we land back on my dead parents again?

Clemson took a sip of wine. “Oh, this is delicious.”

“This is one of my favorites,” I said before talking more about my mom. “It’s been just over two years now. My parents died just under three months apart. My mom was diagnosed with stage-four breast cancer, and it took her within months. At first, they tried to treat it, but she was diagnosed too late. It had already spread too far.”

It may have been the first time I’d gotten through the details without breaking down. The anger was still there, though, just under the pain of her loss. I was pretty certain that would never go away.

“Oh, Luke. I’m so sorry. Cancer is so brutal. So unfair.” She shook her head slowly.

“My dad passed right after her. He technically died of complications from a stroke, but I think the stress of caring for my mom and then losing the love of his life… It was just too much for a body he’d worked into the ground his whole life and had never really taken care of.”

“How devastating. Losing them both so close together.”

I shook my head. “Yes and no. As odd as that sounds. We were still so deep in our grief about Mom that when he passed, there wasn’t a big difference in the sadness. It was like I was already maxed out. It just added another reason to prolong the shitty feeling.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. “I don’t really know what else to say, and to me, that never seems like enough, you know? I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been.”

“Your parents are both still alive?” I asked.

Maybe for a person her age it was an odd question, but in my peer group, many were at the stage of losing parents.

She nodded while sipping her wine. “They are. They aren’t very old, so I’m hoping they’ll be around for a long time. Although…” She chuckled. “They can be royal pains. But I’d be lost without them. Without any of my family, really.”

“You said you have sisters?” I asked while peeking under the saucepan lid to make sure our dinner was done. I turned off the heat and moved the pot to a cool back burner.

“Yes, I’m the youngest of five.”

“Wow. I can’t imagine what your house must have been like. It was just me.”

“Loud,” she said with a big grin. “Very, very loud.”

My smile matched hers. I enjoyed chatting with her so much. It was easy and natural, and it felt like we could probably discuss anything. She had an even temper and an incredible sense of humor, and above all else, she didn’t take herself too seriously. I noticed there were a few subjects she sobered about, but mostly she was gregarious and upbeat. She was a complete joy to be around.

Dinner was ready soon after that, so I invited Clemson to move to the table where I had two places set for us. While I bustled around the kitchen getting the meal on the table, she repeatedly offered to help.

“Nope. I got it. You just sit back and enjoy this evening. It’s my pleasure to serve you.”

“Okay, then,” she said and sat up tall in the high-backed chair and watched me mill about. Carefully, she placed her napkin in her lap, covering as much of the pale pink dress as she could. “I’m doing the dishes, then. It’s the least I can do.”

“We’ll see,” I said with a wink as I placed the last serving dish in front of her. I slid into my seat beside her and watched her inspect the food I’d made.

“Wow, this looks so good. Remind me never to cook for you. I’d be so embarrassed.”

“You don’t enjoy cooking?” I asked and handed her a plate of meat.

She wasn’t shy or dainty about the portions she took, and my heart swelled. It gave me such pleasure to watch people eat the food I prepared, especially a gorgeous woman like this one.

“Dude,” she deadpanned. “I’m a college athlete. I survive on protein shakes and takeout. You have no idea what a treat this is.”

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