Minutes later, he gestured toward the kitchen barstools. Unlike Jenna’s torturous seats, Colby’s stools had soft suede cushions.
Once she sat down, he said, “Normally I wouldn’t put these particular dishes together as a meal, but as you know, there weren’t many options.”
Following the disclaimer, he placed a grilled-cheese-and-jelly sandwich in front of her, followed by a bowl of sliced mango with some sprinkled spices. Finally, he revealed a platter of broccoli with crumbled Cheetos.
“That’s pretty funny, Alec,” she chuckled.
He forked a broccoli crown and held it out. “Try it.”
To her surprise, a complexity of flavors exploded as she crunched down on the veggie. Red pepper flakes and garlic? Some Parmesan, perhaps? And, of course, a dusting of crunchy Cheetos. “You truly are a master.”
He bowed like a Broadway actor and then speared a crown for himself.
“Watching you now reminded me of hanging out in your mom’s kitchen. I loved watching you cook. If only I’d become a great cook just from watching.” She grimaced. “Fail on that score.”
“Why didn’t you ask me to teach you?” He took another bite of broccoli.
“It was more fun to watch. Plus, if you were teaching me, I wouldn’t have been able to talk your ear off. It seemed like a fair trade: you were my unpaid counselor and I was your food tester. Speaking of which, what’s on the mango?” She tentatively tested one, treating her senses to a little heat and tang.
“Chili powder and a squeeze of lime, though that lime looked a bit suspicious.”
“It tastes amazing!” Then she pushed at the sandwich. “But grilled cheese and jelly?”
“That I know you’ll enjoy. Sweet and savory always mix well.” To prove his point, he took a bite from the corner of the sandwich, tugging it a little to reveal the perfect stretch of melted Muenster.
“Show-off.”
She’d pretty much thrown her plans to date a baggage-free guy out the window, yet all she could do was smile. Then she remembered Sara’s remark about Alec’s fight with his dad. It occurred to her then that this meal shouldn’t have surprised her. Alec’s ability to make something out of nothing had been learned from a young age thanks to what little affection he got from his father.
“You never mentioned your family’s reaction to the newspaper article.” She speared another broccoli crown.
He turned away, suddenly very interested in washing the pans. “They’re fine.”
“Alec.” She set down her fork, waiting for him to turn around.
When he finally did, he settled his hip against the sink and crossed his arms.
“That’s a crock.” She rested her chin in her hands. “Your dad hates us working together, so there’s no way he’s okay with that article. Please don’t bottle up your feelings. Whatever this might become, it won’t stand a chance if we can’t share things with each other.”
Colby had already tried the “under the carpet” approach with Mark. She didn’t know much about healthy relationships, but she knew one shouldn’t start the way her marriage ended. Keeping a lid on the past was fine, but they had to be able to openly discuss the present.
His posture deflated like a balloon with a slow leak as he walked around the bar and sank onto the stool beside her. “We argued. Nothing new for me.”
“I hate being a source of more conflict.” She took another bite of her sandwich, but, truthfully, her appetite had waned.
For weeks she’d been resisting inviting his complicated problems into her life without considering how she made his life harder. “Will getting more involved with me cost you your relationship with your dad?”
“What relationship?” Alec hoped the glib remark would end the conversation. There were better ways Colby could raise his blood pressure than bringing up his dad.
“Be serious.”
“I can handle my dad.” He wanted to shut this conversation down before she had second thoughts, although he couldn’t deny his own concerns about how he’d manage a relationship with her while still working on one with his dad.
“What about Hunter? This might interfere with your friendship.”
Alec didn’t welcome her concern. He wanted her to be freed because of him, not in spite of him.
He grabbed her hand. “Trust me to sort out my relationships. There’s no rush, anyway. We’ll wait until you’re sure about what you want.”
“You’re pretty patient.” She grinned.
“You have no idea.” He’d wait forever for the chance to give her back the wings Mark’s suicide had clipped.
On the radio, the soft tune of dueling guitars floated through the room.
“I love this song.” Colby smiled and took another bite of her sandwich, licking a bit of jelly from the corner of her mouth.
“I’ve never heard it,” he said absently, wishing he could lick that jelly from her lips.
“‘Bloom’ by the Paper Kites.”
The melody bubbled along like a brook in the springtime, carrying his heart along with it.
Colby’s face lit as she slid off her stool and tugged his arm. “Let’s dance.”
The sun had nearly ducked below the horizon, casting the apartment in shadows except for the light coming from the stove hood. Colby rested her head against his chest and followed his lead, neither of them talking.
Every aspect of the moment captivated him. The rosemary-and-mint scent of her hair, the weight of her head on his chest, the feel of her cotton dress beneath his palm, the sway of her hips, the sound of their feet shuffling against the wood floor, the lilac-and-gray light shrouding them in a peaceful haze, the sound of her breath, the feel of her thin hand in his.
He raised her hand and pressed his lips to her wrist. She might not feel strong enough to confront the past, but he believed that compassionate, brave girl she’d been still existed, even if pain had locked her away deep inside. Colby would believe it, too, once he stitched together her torn pieces tight enough that she no longer noticed the seams.
“I haven’t danced in years.” She raised her head, her gaze soft.
“Maybe instead of reading about some fictional character’s hundred happy days, we should tick through our own bucket lists together.”
“That’s sweet.” She grinned but didn’t appear eager for adventure.
“I’m serious. What’s on your list?”
After a moment, she said, “My top three would be a trip to Holland during its tulip festival, a hot-air-balloon ride, and to meet Adam Levine.”
“Adam Levine?” he chuckled.
“No judging. What about you?”
“I’ve never given it any thought.”
“Off the top of your head, what have you always wanted to do?”
Make love with you. “Earn a Michelin star—or two, or three—someday. Cycle through French wine country. Fish in Alaska.”