“No.”
“That’s still really good, Rory. I’d hug you right now, if it wouldn’t send you screaming for the hills.”
She gives me a serious look. “I’m still not normal. I’ll never be normal.” She grabs some herbs and tosses them my way. “Now get to work, or date number four will be the one where you serve raw meat and carrot sticks.”
“Yes, Captain.”
For the next hour, we chop and sear and baste.
Rory works for a caterer, so making a gourmet meal is well within her skills. I don’t know what I was thinking when I offered to make Luca dinner.
Actually, I was probably thinking about the things Cosmopolitan magazine promises will happen on the fourth date.
Sex.
Right over there, on my fold-out sofabed.
That is, assuming I still remember how it’s done.
I look over at Rory and sigh. I wish I could talk to her about how I’m feeling right now, but she can’t handle any discussion of sex.
With my last boyfriend, I wasn’t this nervous. I can’t even remember what our first time was like, or even the last time. It was all just a blur of awkward grinding and apologies.
Oh, no. What if Luca is terrible at sex? What if that’s the reason he kept sending women flowers? What if he does some horrible, disgusting thing that makes them never want to see him again?
Rory stands up from checking the roast in the oven and looks at me. “Now what?” she asks. “You look like you’re going to throw up.”
“It’s our fourth date. That’s the date where people traditionally… play Scrabble.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks get pink, but she doesn’t run for the door. “And do you want that to happen?”
“Yes, but I’m worried that maybe he’s terrible at Scrabble. Like he puts the words in the wrong places, or he goes right for the triple word score immediately, instead of starting in the middle.”
She grabs the bottle of wine we were using for the sauce and pours a glass for me and one for her.
We take the glasses over to the couch and sit down.
She speaks carefully, “Maybe before you get the Scrabble board down from the closet, you should be very clear with him about the house rules.”
“As far as I know, I prefer the standard rules. Nothing fancy.”
She glugs down half her glass, then takes a deep breath.
“Have you guys played any warm-up games before tonight? Did you two… share the crossword puzzle?”
“Is that one you do with your hand, or is it more verbal?”
She covers her flushing face with her hand.
I rush to say, “Doesn’t matter, because I didn’t do either. I mean, a couple of times while we were kissing, I did brush up against his wildcard tiles, but I didn’t put my hand inside the velvet bag and grope around for anything special.”
“I think you’re going to be fine,” she says. “Just take it slow.”
I giggle into my wine glass. “It’s just that… most people play with seven tiles at a time, because they fit on the tile rack. I think my tile rack is standard, but what if he plays with eight tiles? Or nine, or ten? Oh my god, what if he plays with eleven letter tiles, and they’re wide ones?”
Rory leans forward, sets the wine glass on the coffee table, and then runs out of my place so fast, she leaves a little cartoon dust cloud behind her.
I pour her wine into my glass and keep thinking about letter tiles.
Chapter 12
Luca arrives right on time for dinner.
This time, he pays attention to my instructions and comes around the side of the main house, right to my door.
He’s got flowers in his hands—a beautiful mixed flower arrangement, in a vase I recognize from my shop.
“You’re kidding,” I say, taking the flowers.
“Read the note.”
He comes inside and glances around quickly before turning his beautiful blue eyes back on me.
Blushing, I find the envelope and pull out one of the standard cards from the shop.
The card reads:
SORRY I’M A JERK. - LUCA
I look up, confused. He’s grinning like crazy.
“I don’t get it,” I say.
He shrugs. “I’m sure I’ll do something hideous tonight. For example, I might look around your place and ask to see the rest of it. Then you’ll tell me it’s a renovated garage, and we’re standing in all of it.”
“Oh, I have five more rooms here. They’re behind that door. Go have a look.” I point my thumb at the coat closet.
“Maybe later.” He takes the flowers and note from my hand and sets them in the middle of the table. Then he wraps his arms around me and pulls me in for a kiss.
We kiss until I get dizzy and stumble back, almost tipping us over.
He licks his lips, his gaze on my mouth. “Are you going to offer me some of that wine you’re drinking?”
“I’m afraid that particular wine is all gone. It went into the, um, sauce. But I have another bottle I can open.”
He picks up a bag from just inside the door and hands me an unopened bottle. “Let’s try this.”
“The bottle’s dusty.”
He chuckles. “It’s from my wine cellar.”
I point to the closet door. “I have a wine cellar, too. It’s right through that door.”
“Sure you do.” He grabs me and kisses me again, then nuzzles his cheek against my neck. His cheek is smooth, like he shaved minutes before coming over. The feeling of his skin against my neck, along with his hot breath, makes my knees weak.
“You smell good,” he murmurs. “You smell like roast beef, which is one of my favorite smells.”
I squeal and pull away. “That’s your dinner.”
He points his finger in the air, like he’s just remembered something. “Right, dinner. I should confess. I actually ate dinner before I came over, because I knew it was just an excuse for you to get me into your lair.”
My mouth drops open in disbelief. “Did you really eat before you came over?”
He laughs. “No. I’m famished.” He plucks the notecard from the table and points to the inscription. “Now you see why I needed this. Classic jerk move, making you worry like that.”
I hand him the wine opener, and he gets to work opening the bottle.
I pull the enormous roast from the oven and leave it on the stovetop to rest before slicing. Rory left me specific instructions for the final preparations, and I do my best to follow them.