Page 45 of The Road to Home Base
Another laugh, like church bells on a summer evening. “All right, all right. One hour.”
“One hour. Can’t wait.”
Chapter Fourteen
Alex
THESOUNDOFsomething sautéing in a pan echoed down the hallway as I opened the door to Rome’s house. I could smell tomatoes, vinegar, and a medley of herbs. My stomach grumbled in response. Music played steadily from the living room—Sinatra, maybe?
A text from Rome had invited me in without knocking as he indicated he would be busy. I toed off my loafers and crept to the end of the hallway and dared a peek at someone who had been on my mind for a week straight. Rome, beautiful Rome, dancing in the kitchen while he toiled away over a steaming stovetop. He wore basketball shorts, a loose t-shirt, and a stained, white apron tied around his waist. A backward ball cap covered his head and a smatter of tomato sauce stained the side of his mouth.
I watched him like a voyeur for only a brief moment. He jiggled his hips in strict movements while bending his knees, a boxy kind of swaying that belonged solely to fathers who only graced the dance floor at their daughter’s wedding. An assortment of groceries was strewn across the kitchen island and I was surprised to see a champagne bottle chilling in a bucket of ice. To date, I had yet to see Rome drink any alcohol.
He turned to grab something from the island when he jumped in place at the sudden sight of me. I advanced fully around the corner and opened my mouth to make a snide comment about his atrocious dancing when he swept me up in his arms and actually lifted me off the ground. My arms went around his neck for stability and my nose pressed just below his jawline. I took in his scent, felt the heat from his body, and let my hands dig into the muscle where they touched.
“I missed you,” he said quietly over the sizzling of the pans, the crooner from the living room. He let me down and my toes touched the hardwood, but he still kept his arms on me.
I pressed a kiss on his lips. Pulled away slowly. “Missed you, too.” Another kiss, this one more passionate. “So. Watcha makin’?”
“Caponata,” he told me. A third kiss. “Hope you like eggplant.” I started to respond but he cut me off. “If that is a penis joke…”
I laughed and pulled away. “Oh you’re no fun.” He turned around to grab something from the island and I slapped him on the ass. He spun and held out an accusatory finger. I held up both hands in defense. “Hey, you make it too easy. So, is the champagne for celebrating?”
He scooped up a handful of chopped herbs from a cutting board and dropped them into the saute pan. “Yep.”
I took a seat at the island and faced him. He pushed the pan’s contents around with a wooden spatula. Incredible aromas continued to suffuse the kitchen. “And…? Are you going to tell me how your flight went?”
Rome finished stirring, tapped the spatula on the side of the pan, and spun around to face me. “All in good time, my friend. First, I want to hear about you.” His brow dimmed a fraction and he looked away. “I’m pretty sure I talk about myself too much.”
I stood at a crossroads and my choices were grim. On theone hand, I could launch into my disastrous week, how Ricky came to my apartment, how I had to hide at my brother’s, how I was afraid to return to my apartment without someone with me. On the other hand, I could push Rome to talk about himself, something he clearly was trying to work on.
I had taken too long to respond. He crossed the kitchen to stand right inside my guard, pushing his body between my legs on the stool and putting both hands on my shoulders.
He then ran his hand along my jawline. “I know something is up,” Rome said. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it now. Maybe pop the champagne? A glass might help settle the nerves.”
Rome released me and returned to the stove while I stood and grabbed the champagne bottle from its bucket of ice. Silently, I peeled the foil, twisted the wire, and pushed out the cork. A loudpopfilled the space, a punctuation to the reticence that had suddenly captured me. I poured two flutes, grabbed one for Rome, and stood next to him at the stove.
A pan of reddish sauce gently boiled between us. I held out a flute for him to take, which he did so with “thank you” on his lips and kindness in his eyes.
“Finally, I see you drink alcohol,” I said. “So. What are we celebrating?” I held up the flute.
“For me, successfully coming out to my teammates. Is there anythingyouwant to celebrate?”
I considered it for a moment. No good came from my interactions with Ricky over the past week. I had to cancel multiple photoshoots. I knew Devin grew annoyed with me taking up space in his apartment. I had a shitty week and nothing was worth celebrating.
Until now, I thought.
I clinked the lip of my champagne flute to his. “I’m celebrating that I have a safe getaway spot. Here. With you.”
He didn’t press me any further, true to his word. We looked each other in the eye as we each took a sip of our bubbly drink. I went in for a second, longer pull as Rome set his glass down on the countertop next to the stove.
I smacked my lips and said, “All right. What can I help with? I have zero culinary skills but surely I can support in some way.”
Without looking, Rome pointed to the sink. “Rinse off the eggplant and then pat dry with a paper towel.”
I found a colander of cubed eggplant beaded with water. Rome told me he salted them, which draws out the moisture, and now we needed to wash them off. I followed his instructions to the letter. While working, I eventually coaxed his story out of him. A couple of compliments, light prodding, and a big smile seemed to do the trick.
The exuberance that came from his voice, like he was vocally dancing. He regaled me with the story from the airplane, how most of his teammates took the time to sit with him afterward and congratulate him. I marveled at that—a professional sports team so open and honest with each other. He alluded to several unsavory characters that Emma had concerns about, but we both agreed that ignoring them was for the best.
