“Jake and I wanted kids. He would have been a great dad,” I mumble, thinking about just how true that statement is. Jake was so much more patient than I am. He got along well with kids and had a way of attracting children no matter where we were. Kids would just wander up to Jake like they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in ages. It always impressed me.
Zander nods, his back to me. He carefully places each scallop in the hot pan. It sizzles and sends steam up in rolling plumes. The kitchen immediately fills with the vague scent of garlic and seafood.
“Will you have any kids?” I ask.
Zander’s lean shoulder lifts and falls in a shrug as his head tilts to the side in thought. He grabs two little containers of pasta from the fridge of and dunks the linguine down into a pot of boiling water on the back burner. The cold pasta meeting with the water sends huge amounts of steam up in the air, but Zander ducks away from it gracefully.
“I don’t really have any friends, either,” I admit, remembering the way he had quietly confessed the same thing. It made my chest ache for him. I don’t like the thought of Zander being so lonely. So isolated. So cut off from love and companionship.
He uses his hands for everything, I’ve noticed. I haven’t seen him use one cooking utensil the entire time. He turned the scallops with skillful, quick fingers. He tossed the asparagus with just a flick of his wrist. He poured the pasta into and out of the boiling water.
He tugs a drawer open and produces the first utensil I’ve seen. With two forks, he grabs up the pasta and plates it for both of us.
With a knife from another drawer, he slices open a big lemon then jabs a fork into the flesh of the ripe fruit, twisting the knife back and forth in half turns, causing lemon juice to flow freely into a bowl. He steps to a little planter box of fresh herbs in the kitchen window and grabs what I guess is the sage. He takes two leaves from a sprig and tears them into little pieces, scattering them into the lemon juice, then pouring the mix over our plates.
He turns to face me wearing a rueful smile and leans back against his granite countertop, wiping his big hands on a dishrag. He tosses the rag across his shoulder so that it drapes down his back and chest. Crossing his arms, he studies me without saying anything for a long time.
“Well, I’m here,” he finally says, holding out his arms like he’s presenting himself to me.
I watch him, wondering if I should tell him that he’s a good friend or something. Fuck, this has turned awkward quick.
We aren’t friends, are we? We’re definitely not dating. Are we? Fuck.
“You’ve turned out to be such a good friend to me, Zan—” I stop as he sighs and brings his hands to his head, looking completely exasperated with me. He rakes his fingers through his messy hair then lets his arms fall to his side. He’s just as confused and frustrated as I am. Or is he?
“I’m not your friend, Sadie.”
“What?”
“I’m not your friend, Sadie. Friends don’t fuck. Not like that.” He motions back toward the hall that leads to his bedroom. “Are you really that blind or is it that you’re ignoring what’s right in front of you?” Zander steps close to me in that way that makes me impossibly weak. “Look at me,” he demands.
I look right into those dark blue eyes of his, captivated, and wait for what I know is coming—complete submission to my truth. Zander is my truth.
“I know you’re hurt and scared and confused. But there’s one thing I know for sure—I’m not your friend, baby.” Without a chance to even think, Zander’s greedy lips cover mine. I surrender to his touch. I surrender to all of him. He kisses me breathlessly with his hands tangled into my hair, holding me to him. He tugs my bottom lip into his mouth, nipping it, then breaks away from me. “So much more, here, Sadie,” he pants, his eyes closed and his forehead resting against mine.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Why? I’m not. I’m glad that we’ve cleared that up. Aren’t you?”
“Yeah. I guess so. It’s just—this—we—whatever—”
“We don’t have to label this, Sadie. This is whatever we want it to be. Understand what I mean?”
I nod my head and lean into him. Zander kisses my forehead so tenderly that I could cry.
“Hate to ruin the moment, Slim, but I just made a kickass meal and it’s getting cold as we speak.”
I giggle under my breath and let go of him, actually acknowledging that I have an appetite for what Zander is serving up. Everything that Zander is serving up. The guilt that I know is shadowing me may catch up later today, tomorrow, or next year, but for right now I’m choosing to grow something pretty like Dawn said. And whatever this thing is between me and Zander is my something pretty.
Chapter Seventeen
Chocolate Lovers
Sadie