Page 49 of Electric Blue Love
Standing, I tossed our empty containers in the nearest trash bin and then stood in front of him with what I hoped was a charming grin. “I have an idea.”
He raised an eyebrow, but his body language relaxed. “That sounds like trouble.”
I nodded. Yep, it was definitely trouble and probably a huge mistake that was going to leave me with a shattered heart, but right now I wanted nothing more than to take just a little of the baggage he carried around off his shoulders. I’d trade a piece of my heart if it patched his even a tiny bit.
It took more convincing than I imagined getting Court to agree to go back to his apartment. He’d been handsy and checking me out all day, so I knew it wasn’t because he didn’t want to kiss me. I thought he was probably worried he was short changing me on the day we had planned. New York was New York, though. No matter where I lived, it would always be home and there would still be lots of visits to do all the things that made me love this city.
With two grocery bags and a box of cupcakes I finagled into the deal, we were set for cooking at Court’s place. When I said, we – I meant him. I was going to watch. I told him outright I had no intention of helping and so I’d plopped myself down on a stool on the opposite side of the kitchen counter while Court minced onions. I was mesmerized by the way his long fingers wrapped around the knife and sliced in quick, precise movements.
“You look good in the kitchen,” I admitted taking a small drink of the wine he picked out at the store. “And you’re right, I like the wine.”
I’d been adamant that I wasn’t a wine person, but apparently, I wasn’t acheapwine person.
He nodded, still paying attention to his task. “That Malbec will go well with the steak.”
“Where did you learn to cook?” I asked while I twirled the stem of the glass.
“Mostly self-taught.”
“Mostly?”
“I took a cooking class last year.” He gave me a sheepish grin before adding. “If you tell anyone I’ll deny, deny, deny.”
“Finally, some leverage over mister perfect.”
He raised an eyebrow and paused over the cutting board. “I’m flattered, but perfect I am not. Far from it.”
“Are you kidding? Perfect home,” I raised my arms up to motion to the living room so perfectly put in place with what he’d admitted was a designer’s touch. “Great job in the most amazing city ever, you’re good looking and charming and can get any woman you want. Maybe not perfect, but you look pretty good on paper.”
He set the knife down and rounded the counter, spinning me around on the bar stool and invading my space.
“On paper is bullshit. I know… I mean, I remember what it was like just getting out of college, the whole world seems to only view you as a checklist – your degrees, your GPA, your job, your apartment - but it’s all bullshit, 8B. Ten years from now I promise you’ll look around your life and you’d trade any of that for the things that truly matter.”
“Which are?” I asked and swallowed hard, not able to look away from his hazel eyes that swirled with grit and maturity.
“Who you are inside, your values, being able to look yourself in the mirror.”
“And you think you’ve failed?”
He withdrew, stepping away from me and running a hand through his dark hair.
“Shit, Bianca, isn’t it obvious by now? I look good on paper because my life is devoid of the things everyone else holds close. When you don’t have family or friends, then work and appearances are easy.”
“You have Leika. And there are lots of people who are just waiting for you to let them in. All those people that were here last night were here because you mean something to them. That’s not nothing.”
He dropped his hand but the haunted look on his face didn’t disappear.
“And you have me.”
The look on his face was almost painful and I stood and walked to him. “Maybe you aren’t perfect, but you make me feel…” I worried at my bottom lip as I searched for the right words. The way he so intently watched me and hung on my words told me that I needed to find the right ones. “You make me feel special.”
“You are special.” His voice was low and full of gravel.
I grinned because it was the perfect response and the idea that he was being perfect even as we had a conversation about him not being perfect was funny to me.
“Special to you?”
“Yes, but special in general, too. The kind of special that any man would be lucky to have – even just for a little while.”
