Page 57 of An Island Summer
“What was that look?” he asked, his gaze swallowing her in interest, as if he could see right down to her soul, finding all the inadequacies that were strewn about at the bottom of her consciousness.
She picked up the pan, giving the ingredients a shimmy. “What do you mean?” she asked, tensing, although she knew exactly what look. It was the slight flinch, that moment of imposter syndrome when he’d thought she was anywhere close to a professional. She reached around him and grabbed the wooden spoon to stir the vegetables.
“I can just tell that you cook a lot,” he said. “That was all I meant.”
“It’s fine,” she replied, the sudden focus on her making her uneasy. “Can you hand me that?” she asked, pointing an elbow toward the pepper mill.
He didn’t move.
“The pepper,” she repeated. “Over there.”
He stared at her as if he were contemplating something.
“You don’t want me to use pepper?” she asked.
“No, I just… It’s been a long time since… What’s your story?” he asked in that gentle way of his, as he did whenever he was letting his guard down. He handed her the pepper and her fingers brushed his when she took it, making her suddenly nervous. She busied herself with turning the crank and cracked some in.
Cooking had been something intimate for her, a way of channeling her feelings, and suddenly, sharing that moment with Toby made her feel like she was standing on the edge of a canyon, looking over it, wondering if she could make it to the other side if she jumped. “There’s not much to tell of my story, apart from my pappy’s house falling down around me.” Opting to step back from the canyon, she offered a less personal answer. She dared not say what she was really feeling, how unsure of her own life choices she was.
He took a drink of his champagne and then scooted his glass toward her, that mind of his seemingly whirring, making her anxious. “I get three questions and you have to answer them,” he said unexpectedly.
Meghan stopped stirring and regarded him. “All right.”
“Why did you move to the Outer Banks?”
“I hated my job in New York, so I quit.”
He cocked his head to the side in interest, his blue eyes on her, making it difficult to breathe. “What’s your favorite sport?”
“Mini golf.” Her lack of pause before the answer made him laugh, the sound of it sending an unexpected plume of happiness through her, and she focused on the food to get herself together, taking one mental step back toward the canyon.
“Is that even a sport?”
“Don’t look down on mini golf,” she teased, adding in more wine and then a couple of handfuls of cheese, trying to ignore the flutter she felt when his eyes sparkled like they were.
He took a step closer to her. “Last question. Why do you feel like you don’t deserve better for yourself?”
She stopped stirring, his waiting eyes telling her that he wouldn’t let her avoid an answer. “I don’t know what you mean,” she replied with her standard response, trying anyway. She took in a breath to steady herself, the fact that he could read her so easily unnerving. She wasn’t ready to go there yet—with him or herself. But as she thought about having something better for herself, she couldn’t deny the urge to have his arms around her, those eyes of his that seemed like they’d been hers, just waiting for the moment when they could see right into her soul. When he challenged her with his stare, she said, “You’re out of questions.”
“If I didn’t push myself to be better, I’d have crumbled into a million pieces after losing Mary.” He leaned into her view to force her to look at him. “Every day is a struggle to uncover the person I am without her. But the more I push myself, the more I uncover what was meant formein this life.”
She cut off the heat and plated the cavatelli with shrimp and asparagus, the spicy scent of it floating around them, as she considered what he’d said. He’d faced far more than she had, and yet he seemed to have figured out what to do. Why was she still floundering?
“I’m just saying that if I tell you that you cook well, you’re allowed to take the compliment.” He grabbed a fork and speared a shrimp with a piece of asparagus and pasta, putting the bite in his mouth. His face was unreadable as he chewed and swallowed, and Meghan’s heart pounded with anticipation. She hadn’t cooked for anyone other than Vinnie and her friends, and suddenly her entire self-worth hinged on this moment, when she knew that was preposterous. But it was because, deep down, cooking was part of her, a passion, and if she couldn’t do that well, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do in life. Then, finally, he said, “This is incredible.”
“Thank you,” she said, trying to heed his advice and take the compliment when her mind was screaming at her that he was just being kind.
“I’m serious,” he said, coming closer, making her heart pound. “It’s really delicious. One of the best dishes I’ve ever tasted outside of a restaurant.”
She stared at him, silent, unsure of whether to cry in sadness for the lost time of doing what she loved, or tears of joy for finally getting acknowledgment from someone other than her friends and family.
“Why don’t you own it and say, ‘Why yes, I’m great at it?’” He leaned toward her, his woodsy scent of sandalwood and cotton filling her lungs. “Why are you afraid to admit it?”
She forced herself to look him in the eye. His guard was down completely, and he seemed to actually want to know about her, about why she was nearly trembling standing there in front of him. She peered out at Tess and Rupert, searching for a view of the water to give her calm. “I wanted to be a chef at one time, but I was turned away in my last job. I don’t have the credentials…”
“That doesn’t matter,” he said.
She didn’t counter, but she did feel like it mattered. Everything in her world until this moment had told her it very much mattered. Before the familiar feeling of dread at having no purpose in life washed over her, she switched gears and picked up the dish. “Could you get the plates and utensils for me, please?”
