Page 69 of Unsure in Love

She gave me an impish grin over her shoulder. “I don’t.”

“I see.”

“I called Aunt Lucia, and she gave me a crash course in preparing a few Cuban dishes.”

“I bet she loved that.”

Cass beamed and gestured to the beautifully set table. “We had fun chatting. Have a seat.”

She made her way down the line, removing the dish covers. Nothing looked the way I knew they were supposed to, but I didn’t care. Except for my aunt and housekeeper, I’d never had a woman cook for me. Cass’s gesture was heartwarming.

“Guess what I made for dessert?” she asked, sitting beside me. “Your favorite, pastelito de guayaba.”

The way she stumbled over the words made me smile.

“I think I did an okay job for the first time.”

I gazed at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and the way her eyes twinkled. She was excited about her culinary accomplishments, and she was fucking adorable. I’d never seen this side of her. I think I fell more in love with her at that moment.

Her smile faltered. “Damian, what’s wrong?”

I stopped gawking at her like an idiot. “Nothing. This is sweet.”

I couldn’t help reaching over to snag her chin to kiss her. When I pulled away, her breaths came out in short huffs and her cheeks were redder. I wanted to go further to make her blush harder, but I reined in my libido. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s eat.”

I sat back while she made me a plate—at her insistence—and then poured red wine into my glass. “I feel bad indulging when you can’t,” I said, glancing at her glass of water.

“I’m fine. This is your night. I want you to enjoy everything, including what I have planned for later.” The sexual suggestion dripping from her words almost made me knock over the wine glass.

“Really? Can we fast forward to that part?” I asked hopefully.

“Not a chance. Eat up.”

Sighing, I grabbed my fork. Before I dug into dinner, I paused to take in the scene of domesticity. Not long ago, I would have balked at the idea of this. Now, I realized it was what had been missing from my life. I wanted to be with Cass like this every day. I wanted her close. I wanted her here. How did I express that without sounding like a total ass by asking her to give up her life in Oakland? I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

Suppressing my sigh, I lifted my fork with what I think was supposed to be beef to my mouth.

“Damian, don’t!”

I froze and glanced at Cass. She spat whatever was in her mouth into a napkin and gagged.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Don't eat that. You can’t. It’s terrible.” She grimaced and eyed her plate with horror.

“It can’t be that bad,” I assured and took a bite. An overdose of salt and lemon immediately harassed my tastebuds. I schooled my expression and valiantly soldiered on with another bite because Cass looked devastated. “See? Not that bad.”

She watched me with furrowed eyebrows. “You look ready to keel over.” Her lips quirked into a wry grin. “Thanks for trying to spare my feelings, but you don’t have to.”

Swallowing my last bite—with difficulty—I picked up my glass and chugged down the wine.

“How about some water?” She lifted the pitcher in offering.

I nodded and held out my glass. My eyes were glued to her as I drank, gauging her expression. I hoped like hell her feelings weren’t hurt. Just as I was about to suggest we try another dish, she laughed. It was an uproarious and contagious sound that floated around the dining room. My lips twitched into a smile as I took in her amusement.

Wiping away a tear, she said between giggles. “Never tell anyone about this. If Tessa finds out that I tried to be domestic and failed miserably, I’ll never live it down. She always tells me to stay out of the kitchen because I absolutely suck at cooking.”

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