Chapter 22
I round the corner into the kitchen and pause as my eyes find Caleb cooking away in there. He is moving smoothly through the room, clearly totally comfortable in the kitchen. As if that isn’t sexy enough, he is dressed casually in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt that hugs his biceps, and a wave of heat rolls through my body and across my skin. No one should look that good standing in the kitchen in freaking sweatpants after a twelve-hour hospital shift. It makes me suddenly self conscious of my own old, worn-in sweats and tank top, wet hair, and lack of makeup. Part of me is wondering if I should sneak back upstairs before he notices me and make myself a little bit more presentable, but then without turning to look at me, his voice echoes through the kitchen.
“Are you just going to stand there staring, or are you going to come sit down and have a glass of wine?”
*Ohh. I* do *like wine.*
I sheepishly shuffle forward and take a seat on one of the barstools pushed up against the island in the kitchen, embarrassed about being caught staring. I comfort myself by telling myself that he must be used to it at this point in his life.
He finally turns to face me, and looks me up and down again, not in a sexual way, but as though he’s checking to make sure that I really am okay. Once he is satisfied that I’m not hiding a secret broken bone or something, he gives me a wide smile.
“Red or white?” He steps to the side and reaches into a cabinet, producing two crystal wine glasses, then sets one in front of me and one in front of himself.
“Whichever is sweetest,” I tell him, returning his smile. I half expect him to make fun of me and my childish preference for wine that tastes more like grape juice than wine, but he just nods and moves toward a wine cooler built in under his counter. He opens the bottle and pours me a glass of red.
“Dinner will be done soon. How does lemon chicken piccata sound?”
God, if my mouth wasn’t watering at the sight of him in those sweatpants, it is now at the thought of lemon chicken piccata.
“That sounds* incredible,*” I groan.
“Good. How are you feeling after your shower?”
“A little better. Less tense, at least. I still don’t know what I am going to do. I’m supposed to work tomorrow and I’m not even sure if it’s safe for me to do so.”
His brows pull together, and he simply says, “I will take care of it. You can take tomorrow off while we figure out how to proceed. I am going to need more details on this whole situation, but I’ll let you get some food in your stomach first.”
Thank heavens, because I don’t even know where to begin.
“Alright,” I nod, “But I am going to need more wine first. It’s… a lot.”
Without saying another word, he pours me another drink from across the counter. Once my glass is full again, he sets down the bottle and moves to drain the pasta that has been boiling on the stove, and begins plating the meal that looks like it could be served at a freaking 5 star dining establishment. When he is finished, he picks up both plates, and nods toward the dining room table. I pick up my wine glass, then grab his and the bottle and move to the table where I settle into one of the chairs that is surprisingly comfortable.
As soon as I sit, Caleb slides my plate over toward me, then picks up his own fork, but then pauses and looks at me expectantly. Apparently he is not going to take a bit until I do. No freaking pressure. I load up my fork with a bite that is way too big to be shoving into my mouth with someone watching me, but after this hellish day I don’t even care. Flavors of tangy lemon, savory garlic, and a hint of wine burst across my tongue, and a moan escapes my lips.
I look at Caleb, intending to tell him that this is literally the most delicious thing that I have eaten in my entire life, but stop when I see him looking at me with a strange expression on his face. His dark eyes lock with my blue-green eyes, and the air between us thickens with an almost electric tension. *God, he is* gorgeous.
He breaks the tension when he says, “I take it that moan means you like it?” His tone is teasing, and I feel my face flush with heat.
I finish chewing before answering. I might have shitty manners from basically raising myself, but for now I can be on my best behavior. I am not sure why I care so much what he thinks of me, but, honestly, I do.
“This is amazing. It might be the best thing I have ever eaten. And by ‘might be,’ I mean that it *is*, in fact, the best thing I have ever eaten.”
Caleb booms out a laugh that echoes off of the walls and hardwood floors. The sound of it is mesmerizing. God, I swear I could listen to him laugh all day. There has to be something seriously wrong with me.
“Well, I am glad that you are enjoying it. I wanted to impress you.” He gives me a wink.
He wanted to impress me? *Me?*
“Well, it worked,” I laugh. “I think this pasta could actually solve all of the world’s problems. World peace, thanks to Caleb’s lemon chicken piccata!”
We laugh together for a moment, and then I speak again.
“In all seriousness, thank you. For dinner, and also for coming to the rescue tonight. I owe you the world’s biggest favor.”
“You owe me nothing,” he says, “except an answer to one question.”
“Damn it, I was hoping you had forgotten,” I tease.
“No such luck, beautiful girl. It’s time to pay up.”
I blush a little at the compliment, but take another bite and nod, encouraging him to ask away.
“I need to know who left that necklace and note. I need to know why he seems hellbent on finding you.”
“That’s not a question.” I hedge.
He doesn’t respond, he simply cuts me a look that makes it very clear that he is still expecting me to answer anyway.
I let out a long breath, then set my fork down and lean back in my chair, and tell him the story that I have yet to tell another person.