Page 77 of Love on the Byline

Ollie carefully cleaned the shrimp and placed them in thebowl to keep them cold.

“Do you need any help?”

“If you want, you can take the pasta dough out of thefridge. I need it to warm up before I extrude it.”

She slid off the stool and walked to the fridge. “God, thisthing is huge,” she said, looking up at it.

“It is.”

She opened the door and emerged with the ball of dough hehad made earlier. “Is this it?”

“Yeah, put it next to the Kitchen Aid.”

“You’re actually making fresh pasta?” She resumed her seat atthe counter.

“It’s not hard.” He washed and dried his hands beforepulling a head of garlic from the strand he’d picked up on their trip to thestore. He moved the cutting board to the island so he wouldn’t have his back toher as they chatted.

The whole scenario—her sitting there while he cooked forher—was beginning to put ideas into Ollie’s head that he hadn’t entertained ina long time. Probably since college.

He didn’t know why things had felt so comfortable withBlake. From the moment they’d met, he’d been drawn to her. He wanted to holdonto the feeling. Hold onto her, their friendship, their...possibility.

“Don’t cut yourself.”

He looked down at the knife in his hand. “Right.” Forcinghimself to concentrate, he sliced the cloves into paper thin wafers. The sharp smellof garlic filled the air, creating a fragrant aroma.

“Where did you learn to cook, from Hans?”

“Ma grand mère,” he replied, exaggerating theaccent and pleased when he glanced up and saw her eyes on him.

He wanted to keep them there.

“That’s my father’s mother. She was a big deal in hervillage. Her family ran a small restaurant that she worked in from a young age.That’s how she met my grandfather, actually.”

“She served him a meal, and he fell in love?” She rested herchin on her hand and smiled up at him.

“That’s not far from the truth.” He filled a small bowl withice and water before tossing the garlic in for sixty seconds.

“What does that do?” she asked, pointing at the bowl.

“I don’t know that it actually does anything,” headmitted. “But my grandma swears it keeps the garlic from becoming bitter whenit cooks.”

“I thought that was onions.”

“It could be, but her mother told her to do it and hermother’s mother told her, so…”

“Never wise to break a family tradition, at least when it comesto food.”

“Or journalism,” he said, winking at her. It earned amelodious laugh and, damn, if that didn’t make his heart do a little danceinside his chest.

“I’ve observed all sorts of new things about you, OliverBenjamin.”

After straining the garlic, he dried the slices on a papertowel. “Like what?”

“Let’s see, you speak French.”

“I feel like you should have known that already.”

“Maybe, but it feels like new information,” she countered.“Let’s call it a rediscovery.”

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