Her eyes met his. “I do. Very much.”
Gage had never expected tonight to go as well as it did. Dinner was wonderful, but Chloe was even better. She was trying, which meant she clearly cared about him—that alone was enough to make him hold on to the hope they could actually make this work.
They walked down the street, the lights of the nearby shops twinkling. She slipped her free hand into his, and it felt good. Better than good. It felt right. As though strolling down the street after a nice night of talking and laughing was so normal, he could feel it in his bones.
And he wanted more. Wanted to know her more. Wanted her to finish all the things she’d ever stopped herself from telling him. Wanted to hear her mind when she spoke and watch her eyes when she laughed. He just wanted…more.
“Ever think about adding ice cream to the menu at your restaurant?” he asked.
She smiled and took another lick of her cone. “Are you kidding? I could never beat the creamery.” She moaned around another long lick of the ice cream, and the sight of her tongue made Gage’s cock take notice. But he stuck to his mission. Getting to spend time with her outside of bed. If this worked, it would be all the more satisfying when they fully gave in to their desire.
“Besides,” she finished, “Natalie would kill me if I had a direct dessert competition.”
He nodded. Time to push just a little bit. “So it’s safe to say that the dish you’re trying to make for the anniversary isn’t a sweet one?”
Her stride slowed and she glanced at the ground. Gage knew that look. Like if she could turn her vanilla cone into chocolate right now, she just might. But when she looked at him, there was a different light sparkling behind her eyes. Like she…trusted him. At least wanted to see if she could.
“I’m trying to make crab cakes. My mother’s epic, amazing, can’t-be-replicated-ever crab cakes.”
“I see,” he said. And he wanted to help. Because of all the times he’d seen Chloe, he’d never seen something be so important to her. “There are only so many ingredients in crab cakes. Did your mom get creative and use a difficult recipe?”
“No,” she said calmly. “That’s just it. It’s not putting them together that’s hard, it’s how she cooked them. The ingredients I can handle, well…for the most part. But no matter what I do, I can’t cook them right. It’s really annoying.”
She huffed and took another lick of her cone. But she kept holding his hand. Kept talking to him. And damn, Gage wanted to keep that rhythm going. She was opening up. Trusting him with more.
“I always end up burning them. Even when I turn the stove down.” She shook her head. “I swear the stove just hates me. It’s secretly a robot out to destroy anything I bring near it.”
“That’s a valid hypothesis,” he said.
She laughed and nudged him. “Yeah, evil robot stove is way more plausible than me not being able to boil water.”
“Surely you can boil water…” he said with a wink. “Just don’t go too crazy and put an egg in it or anything.”
“Oh God no!” she teased. “My luck, the damn egg would turn into a chicken, flip me off, and fly out of the pot.”
“Now you sound magical.”
“Not in the kitchen, I’m afraid. Which is hard, because my mom was so good in there. Like second nature. I can still remember how it smelled with her in it. Like she could create anything. There was always this smell of…love.” She didn’t make a sound, but her grip on his hand tightened, and Gage waited a breath and silently begged for her to continue. Finally, she said, “Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? The smell of love.”
“Not at all,” Gage said. “It’s how you know her. How you remember her. It’s comforting.”
She stared at him. “It really is. The clicking sound right before the burner lights or the soft sway of a kettle before it whistles are like triggers. For a second, I can almost see her. Forget that she’s gone. And it’s in that tiny moment, I have her back.”
Gage squeezed her hand. “It’s like she’s still with you.”
The corner of her mouth trembled. Just barely, but he couldn’t miss it.
“But those moments are getting shorter and shorter and fewer and further between.”
“You miss her,” he said.
“Yes. So much. Even when she was alive I missed her.”
That made him frown. “What do you mean?”
She shook off that last question, and with one last lick of her cone, she dropped the rest into the trash can as they approached her restaurant. Gage did the same thing and walked her toward the entrance of her place.
Their talking time was over. He could sense it. He wanted to know more. Wanted her to dive deeper, but he would take what he could get. Besides, she’d already given him quite a bit tonight. He was grateful for that small step.
“Well, this is me,” she said as they rounded the restaurant to her door around the back of the building.