Page 639 of Hell Hath No Fury
I frown and follow him into the kitchen. "Not if she doesn't have to be. I hate tardiness."
He walks around the island, glancing over his shoulders at me. "Tardiness," he says mockingly, rolls his eyes, and then spins on his heels, facing me, but walking backward.
The way his lips tilt up at the corners pulls a smile of my own from within me. "Why is that funny?"
Kareem licks his lips. "You just seem so serious all the time." He pauses. "I'll tell you what, why don't you pour us a couple of drinks while I finish dinner? Something strong that will"—His eyes zero in on the hand I run against the dip of my throat—"calm you." His words are more of a demand than a question. "Glasses and scotch are over on the drink cart, ice in the freezer to your left."
I drop my hands to my sides, hurry to the sink to rinse them, and hustle back over to fill two glasses with ice cubes from his ridiculously fancy refrigerator. I feel his eyes on me as I pour equal amounts of liquor into the tumblers. The condensation is the calming motivation I need to get my nerves in order. I swallow my drink in one gulp before I even have a chance to bring him his. I refill my glass, spinning only to see him staring wide-eyed at me.
Kareem dusts his hands on the apron tied around his waist. I’ve been so nervous that I didn't notice he was wearing one at first. But for some reason, seeing him in it warms my insides. I don't know many men who cook, let alone wear aprons.We make eye contact, gazing at one another for several long seconds.
After a brief moment, he blinks and refocuses on dinner. I finally look around and see he's been hard at work. Two burners are going on his stovetop, one with a cream-based sauce and another that's boiling.
"It smells great." I sit on one of the bar stools on the opposite side of his island.
He peers at me gingerly. "Thank you." Kareem chops some herbs before picking up a pasta ladle to stir the boiling pot.
"And you call me serious," I say teasingly at the strained expression he wears.
Kareem cranes his neck in my direction, smiling when he realizes what I'm referring to. "Sorry. I like to cook."
"Obviously," I joke. "What is it?" I lift and strain my neck to get a peek.
He taps the ladle on the edge of the pot and sets it down on a spoon rest. Picking up the pot, he carries it to the sink to drain. He mixes the noodles into the sauce he's prepared.
As he opens the oven and flips whatever is inside, he speaks. "We have roasted chicken with a lemon ricotta dressing over bucatini pasta."
My eyes grow wide, displaying how impressed I am with him. "Dressing? Bucatini?Who are you?"
He grins. "Hey, I really like cooking," he repeats sarcastically.
We laugh out loud.
"Well, it smells delicious."
He doesn't use his word to say thank you, he only nods and returns to the food.
"So do you cook, Rylan?" he asks after a beat.
"No," I say with more emphasis than I intended to.
We dart our gazes at each other, only to laugh again.
"Okay, I can do the cooking."
I dip my chin into my chest and focus on the scotch in my hand. It's not that he did anything wrong, but his words seem hopeful, and honestly, I don't know what to do with that.
"Is there anything else you're good at?" My voice is high-pitched, but I clear my throat to get it together.
"I'm good at a lot of things. I have many interests, but cooking is one of the constants."
A timer goes off. Kareem picks up an oven mitt to remove the roasting pan. Using a butcher knife, he slices both breasts into strips. Next, he gathers plates and eating utensils. I watch him remove a second pan from the oven and recognize he's also made French bread.
* * *
Kareem
I signal for Rylan to lead us onto my eighth-floor patio. The weather tonight is perfect to dine under the moon. There's a slight chill in the air, so I started my fire pit to help provide some warmth. Besides, I want to make this dinner perfect. She left while I slept and has done everything to avoid me in the office. It has to be for a reason, and it's not that I want to pry. Her past is her past. But I want her to see me positively, in a way that'll hopefully break down the walls she thinks no one notices are there.
