Page 20 of The Photograph

“She smells like you.”

He knows what Ismelllike?

Mitzi licks his ear, and he grimaces, so I lift her off him and put her on the floor, turning toward the kitchen as she jumps around my feet.

“Yes, sweetie we have a visitor,” I say, looking down at her.

I place the bag on the countertop, and Alex opens it up, producing a packet of steak, wine, chocolate, and a little box that looks like it might contain pastries. Then he shrugs out of his jacket, and I gesture to one of the chairs around the island. I watch the fine dark hairs on his tanned arms and his long slim fingers as he hangs his jacket over the back of the chair. My gaze drops to the cutting board on the counter. Where was I? Oh yes, salad.

“How are you doing?” he asks, and the simple question makes the tightness inside me ease a little. “You sounded a little frazzled over the phone,” he adds.

I grimace. “Stressed. Busy. How are you?”

He walks past and touches his hand to my waist before coming to stand next to me and picking up the red wine. My toes curl in my socks.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“The bottle opener is in the second drawer down.” I nod toward the cupboards behind the island, and then I open my mouth. “When you called, I was shopping after a hard session with my trainer at the gym. It’s the first workout I’ve managed to have with him since I got back from Korea. Then my sister rang.” I sweep my hand around the apartment. “She’s staying here for a few days, and I don’t even want to start onthatwhole story. Except to say she’s a pain in my ass. The huge project I’m managing at work requires me to fly out of the country for longperiods of time at a moment’s notice, and they’ve just said they want to expand what we’re doing. We’re employing people so fast even I can’t keep up with who’s on the team.”

My teeth grind as I pause to suck in a deep breath. What is it with the word vomit? Ultimately, he’s just another person I don’t know that well or who wants something from me. I turn my head and give him a tight smile. Alex tilts his head at me.

Lifting the knife, I annihilate a tomato.

“That sounds insane,” he says, eyes flickering over me as I pick up an onion and give it the same treatment.

“I wanted to apologize for that picture. Thanks for letting me do that face-to-face,” he says softly.

I shake my head. “I think the one I sent you was more dubious.”

I’ve got so many questions about his photo. He’s probably got a lot of questions about George. But for some reason I’m not eager to get into all that tonight. It’s a heavy conversation to have with someone I’ve met only once before and hardly know.

Grabbing a frying pan, I scrape in the chopped vegetables and glance at him. His head is bowed and he’s studying his hands.

“What’s your favorite thing to do to chill out in the evening?” he says.

I blink at him. That was not what I was expecting him to say.

“A takeout, a nice glass of red wine, and watching a thriller.”

Picking up some more baby tomatoes out of the plastic container, I place them on the cutting board. Alex leans over, and his hand is warm on mine as he takes the knife out of my hand. As I turn, I’m inches away from serious brown eyes and thick dark lashes.

“I’m cooking,” he says. “You open the bottle and pour us both a glass, yeah? Then go and sit down.”

“What?”

He peers at me over his glasses. “Find a movie you want to watch.”

True to his word, Alex walks across the rug twenty minutes later with two laden plates of food. Steam curls up from the steak and potatoes, and the salad on the side is covered in a dressing that he appears to have rustled up from somewhere. Shifting back in my seat, I take the plate out of his hands.

“Wow, Alex, this looks amazing. Where did you unearth all this stuff? Who taught you to cook?”

He grins. “Your cupboards are pretty well stocked. My grandma is the cooking supremo, her latkes were the best. When I was younger, I think she thought I was a spoiled brat and that I should learn how to take care of myself. I spent a summer when I was seventeen sweating in her kitchen while she showed me everything she knew, which mainly involved her screaming at me when I messed up her recipes. Perhaps she thought we were all mollycoddled because she did it with all of us.”

“All of us?”

“I have four older sisters. My parents kept trying for the boy, and apparently, I’m the ruined youngest sibling.”

I laugh at this. It’s like the complete opposite way around to my family.

---