Page 46 of Grace

Should I just cut my losses, sleep with him tonight, and see what happens? That way, I can move on either way without wonderingwhat if?

Before I land on an actual plan, my door is knocked on. I open it and see Daniel there with a lovely red wine. He gives me an effortlessly warm smile as he takes up the whole doorframe. I suck in a breath as heat floods my body, threatening to drag me into every dirty thought I push away while at work.

“It already smells delicious,” Daniel says.

“I just got started,” I say, then move to welcome him in. He walks right to the kitchen, leaving me to squeeze in between him and the stove. “Sorry, the kitchen is small.”

“I’m not.” He chuckles as he rubs my hip. “Are you making sauce from scratch?”

“Of course. That’s the best way to do it. Then it’s seasoned to taste,” I say.

I tell him more about cooking as I continue to chop the onions and garlic, taking care to send him out of the kitchen during the onion part so his eyes aren’t bothered. Daniel asks me plenty of questions, offer to chop some vegetables or to taste what I’m working on.

I carefully give him a spoonful, entranced with how his lips move as he takes the spoon in his mouth. He groans. “Fuck, Grace. I’m starting to believe there’s nothing you can’t do.”

We laugh and talk about our favorite foods, what we’ve failed horribly at making, and plenty of things that let me get to know him better.

He chuckles and squeezes my hip as he watches me work the sausage and ground beef into the sauce. “There was a time when I was sure that when someone said to stir the sauce, they meant with as much force as possible.”

“No,” I gasp.

“It definitely got stirred, but there wasn’t much left to eat considering it was all over the kitchen. I spent more time cleaning than eating,” he teases.

“That’s how it always is with good food, I think. Everyone ends up cleaning up and spending more time actually making it than eating it,” I answer.

“No wonder people prefer take-out,” he hints.

“I don’t know, there’s something nice about cooking. I have total control. I can make anything I can think of. Plus, giving someone something that you work hard making, something you’ve put your hard work, time, and yourself into means more. I like to think it makes the food taste better,” I muse.

“Based on the last meal you made me, you’re right,” he hums in my ear before kissing my cheek. “Which is also why you should put me to work. If you keep looking this sexy in the kitchen, I can’t promise my hands won’twander.”

I squeak when he pinches my ass, then pulls my hips back so I can feel how hard he is. I shake my head at him and have him try some of the meat in the sauce.

He beams. “Delicious. This will be the best lasagna I’ve ever had.”

“If you want…” I trail off. “You could make us a salad or get the wine ready.”

“If we start drinking it now, we’ll be proper chefs,” he agrees.

I giggle as he uncorks the bottle. We keep talking as he tosses the salad, tossing things in while asking me if it’s right. We get a little silly with the wine, which means I end up with some on my neck that Daniel playfully licks up.

Even though he’s entirely different from Bash, I can’t help comparing the two. Bash always said the kitchen wasn’t big enough for both of us. He said I was too bossy in the kitchen and that I never made an effort to be sexy with it.

Considering how much Daniel and I are laughing, how he keeps tugging at my apron playfully and kissing my neck, grabbing my ass, making any excuse to wrap around me, I’m more and more convinced that half the issues in my relationship with Bash were Bash’s problems, not mine.

“Are you humming over there?” Daniel asks playfully.

“I’m not good at singing,” I say softly, “but I like music in the kitchen.”

“All you have to do is ask, darling,” he says before playing some light Italian music on his phone speaker.

Daniel spins me in a quick circle, and his eyes soften as I smile. There’s no way that our chemistry is only sexual, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing, given all the obstacles in our way.

Then again, I’m not sure it matters if being with him feels this good.

twenty-one

Daniel

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