Page 78 of Save the Drama for your Mama
Brian was Abigail’s boyfriend, who had just returned from deployment and was stationed at the Coronado Naval Base.
Abigail winced. “Fine. I will just dream about him then.”
Later in the day, when the time had come to get ready for our date, I had to admit I spent way too much time picking out an outfit. Finally, I had settled on jeans and a cute pastel-green blouse.
The savory aroma of garlic and simmering tomatoes enveloped me as I walked into Cooper’s kitchen at six o’clock. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
“What is that divine smell?” I said. “I must be in heaven.”
Cooper turned from the stove, waving a wooden spoon at me and grinning. “I’ve been cooking up my mom’s famous seafood linguini all afternoon. I hope you’re hungry.”
“I’m starving.” I peered into the pot of bubbling sauce and wiggled my nose. “It looks and smells amazing. Is that fresh baked bread I smell too?” I leaned over to peek through the glass of the oven.
“Yes—garlic bread,” Cooper said. “Also, my mom’s recipe.”
I took a seat on the stool at the kitchen island, my growling stomach urging him to hurry with our dinner. I’d spent the day chiseling away at layers of old paint and plaster in the living room, and I had worked up a serious appetite, and not only for food.
Cooper poured us both a glass of Groth Sauvignon Blanc. “To all the unexpected, pleasant surprises that life brings us.”
“I’ll drink to that.” I clinked my glass against his and took a sip of the wine.
Cooper brought two heaping plates of seafood linguini over to the table, along with the basket of garlic bread. “Let’s eat.”
I reached for the basket of garlic bread, my weakness.
I closed my eyes and moaned after the first bite. “Mmm. I love you.”
“Pardon me?” Cooper asked.
My eyes shot open.
I held up the piece of bread, mortified, as my pulse banged in my neck. “I was talking to the garlic bread. Really.” I kissed the bread for emphasis, while I mentally slapped myself in the face.
Cooper chuckled. “Relax. I believe you.”
Still, he had me flustered.
I took another sip of wine, then dove into the mouthwatering pasta, enjoying a few bites before asking, “How’s the manuscript coming along? Still making progress?”
“It’s getting there,” Cooper said after swallowing a bite of garlic bread. “Still have a few more chapters before it’s ready to send to the editor. But I should make the deadline, as long as I stay focused.”
“I’m sure you’ll finish in time. And I know it will be amazing.” I gave him an encouraging smile. “You’ve worked so hard on this book, it’s clear how passionate you are about it. Can you share any bits of it? I’m interested.”
Cooper’s eyes softened. “You know, you’re part of the inspiration for this story.”
I blinked in surprise. “I am?”
“Absolutely.” He took a sip of his wine, looking like he wanted to say something else. “If I’m being honest, I’m pretty sure you’re my muse.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I said. “I’m flattered to have played a small part in fueling your creativity.”
Cooper reached over and squeezed my hand. “It’s more than just a small part, trust me.”
I could feel my cheeks flushing at his words. “I’m curious. What’s the deal with the beret you’re always wearing?”
He hesitated. “The book I’m writing is set in France. It’s about a French artist and, well . . .”
“No!” I said. “So you do the whole prop thing like your mom? You wear it to get you in the mood to be your book’s hero?”
