Page 31 of Kyle
"I'll see to it."
"Thanks."
He nodded.
"I'll just go up and put away my stuff and make the call."
"I'll set the table."
She waited until his footsteps faded upstairs, then sat up and brushed her hair out of her eyes, glancing at the clock. The anticipation of sharing a quiet meal, perhaps something comforting like lasagna or risotto, made her smile softly. For a moment, she let herself hope that tonight might mark a new chapter for both of them, one with fewer burdens and more laughter.
And wondered what the hell she was thinking.
Swinging her legs off the sofa, she rose and stretched, pressing her fingers at her back to work out the kinks. They were just being civil, that's all. But somehow the reassurance no longer sounded convincing.
In fact, it sounded weak.
With a sigh, she went to set the table.
He came back to candlelight and music. Something soft and bluesy. She had settled for the cozy table tucked beneath the wide bay window overlooking the river.
"The food will be here in ten minutes." He could not understand why his palms were sweating and his heart was pumping overtime. It's just dinner. A meal between two people who happened to be married to each other.
Ignoring the underlying tension and the stern lecture he had given himself while in his bedroom, he strode to the wine cooler and selected a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.
"So, how's he really? Your dad?" He worked the cork out with a muted pop, before selecting glasses to pour.
"I had to set him straight. Self-pity comes natural to him." The scent of the mood candles mingled with the spices inside the kitchen.
"He likes to blame people for his supposed failure in life. The man is a brilliant architect and refuses to use his talent."
"I've seen some of the things he did." He handed her the glass, amused that she had hoisted herself up on the counter and was wearing bulky socks as usual.
"I got my inspiration and talent from him. When I saw him design a particular building, I told myself I wanted to do just that." Leaning back on one hand, she swung her legs and sipped the excellent vintage.
She had to admit that she felt damned comfortable around him.
The meal arrived and they spent a companionable few minutes dumping the delicious smelling risotto into chinaware. They sat down to eat, and the conversation settled smoothly around business. She found that she could talk about the projects easily, because he was a big part of it.
They even spent a few minutes volleying back and forth over an idea she pitched.
And he realized to his amazement that she was not afraid to dig into her meal. The other women he had spent time with, including Carly, ate delicately, toying with their food as if afraid to ruin their lipstick. Ingrid was not wearing lipstick for one and was enjoying the meal with relish.
Tearing off a piece of the loaf, she automatically handed it to him and used hers to gesture at him as she made her point.
"White is more the color."
"Everything white?" He gave her a dubious look as he ate the bread.
"What about pastel, pink, subtle shades of raspberry? I understand you want uniformity."
"That's so not what I'm after."
His thick brows lifted, and he laughed when she rolled her eyes.
"Okay, fine, you got me. The store front shops, the water fountain in the middle of all of it, park benches, not those hard ones that gives your butt an ulcer. Soft, buttery soft with padded headboards. An area where the shoppers can relax and watch their kids play. Swing sets."
She thought about it for a minute.
