“No, that’s okay. Just take off the skins. The knife is in the drawer there.”
Jeremy pulled out a steak knife, and reached for the onions on the counter. For a moment, they worked without speaking, listening to the music. As she finished with the lettuce and set it off to the side, Lexie tried to ignore how close they were standing together. But from the corner of her eye, she couldn’t help admiring Jeremy’s casual grace, along with the plane of his h*ps and legs, the broad shoulders, the high cheekbones.
Jeremy held up a bald onion, oblivious to what she’d been thinking. “Like this?”
“Just like that,” she said.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to dice it?”
“No. If you do, you’ll ruin the sauce, and I’ll never forgive you.”
“Everyone dices the onions. My Italian mother dices the onions.”
“Not me.”
“So you’re just going to put these big round onions in the sauce?”
“No. I’ll cut them in half first.”
“Can I at least do that?”
“No, thanks. I’d hate to put you out.” She smiled. “And besides, I’m the cook, remember? You just watch and learn. Right now think of yourself as . . . the prep boy.”
He glanced at her. Since they’d come in from the cold, the rosiness in her cheeks had faded, leaving her skin with a fresh, natural glow.
“The prep boy?”
She shrugged. “What can I say? Your mom might have been Italian, but I grew up with a grandmother who tried just about every recipe out there.”
“And that makes you an expert?”
“No, but it made Doris one, and for a long time, I was the prep girl. I learned through osmosis and now it’s your turn.”
He reached for the second onion. “Tell me, then, what’s so special about your recipe? Aside from having onions the size of baseballs, I mean.”
She took the skinned onion and sliced it in half. “Well, since your mother was Italian, I’m sure you’ve heard of San Marzano tomatoes.”
“Of course,” he said. “They’re tomatoes. From San Marzano.”
“Ha, ha,” she said. “Actually, they’re the sweetest and most flavorful of all tomatoes, especially in sauces. Now, watch and learn.”
She pulled out a pot from beneath the stove and set it off to the side, then turned on the gas and lit the fumes under the burner. The blue flame whooshed to life, and she set the empty pot on top of it.
“I’m impressed so far,” he said, finishing the second onion and setting it aside. He picked up his beer and leaned against the counter again. “You should get your own cooking show.”
Ignoring him, she poured both cans of tomatoes into the pot, then added a whole stick of butter to the sauce. Jeremy peeked over her shoulder, watching as the butter began to melt.
“Looks healthy,” he said. “My doctor always told me I needed extra cholesterol in my diet.”
“Did you know you have a tendency toward sarcasm?”
“I’ve heard that,” he said, raising his bottle. “But thanks for noticing.”
“Are you done with the other onion yet?”
“I am the prep boy, aren’t I?” he said, handing it over.
She split that one as well before adding all four halves to the sauce. Stirring for a moment with a long wooden spoon, she let it come to a boil, then set the heat on low.
“Okay, then,” she said, satisfied, returning to the sink, “we’re done for now. It’ll be ready in an hour and a half.”
As she washed her hands, Jeremy peeked into the saucepan, frowning. “That’s it? No garlic? No salt and pepper? No sausage? No meatballs?”
She shook her head. “Three ingredients only. Of course, we’ll pour it over linguine and top it with some fresh-grated Parmesan cheese.”
“This isn’t very Italian.”
“Actually, it is. It’s the way they’ve made it in San Marzano for hundreds of years. That’s in Italy, by the way.” She turned the faucet off, shook her hands over the sink, and dried them on a dish towel. “But since we’ve got some time, I’m going to clean up before dinner,” she said. “Which means you’ll be on your own for a bit.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure out something.”
“If you’d like, you can take a shower,” she said. “I’ll set some towels out for you.”
Still feeling the salt on his neck and arms, it took only an instant for him to agree. “Thanks. That would be great.”
“Give me just a minute to set things up for you, okay?”
She smiled and grabbed her beer as she squeezed past him, feeling his eyes on her hips. She wondered whether he was feeling as self-conscious as she was.
At the end of the hall, she opened the closet door, grabbed a couple of towels, and put them on his bed. Beneath the sink in his bathroom were asssorted shampoos and a new bar of soap, and she set those out as well. As she did, she caught a reflection of herself in the mirror and had the sudden image of Jeremy wrapped in a towel after showering. The image made something jump inside. She drew a long breath, feeling like a teenager again.
“Hello?” she heard him call. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the bathroom,” she answered, amazed by how calm her voice sounded. “Just making sure you have everything you need.”
He came up behind her. “You wouldn’t happen to have a disposable razor in any of those drawers, would you?”
“No, sorry,” she said. “I’ll look in my bathroom, too, but . . .”
“No big deal,” he said, running his hand over his whiskers. “I’ll just go with the scruffy look tonight.”
Scruffy would be just fine, she decided, feeling herself blush. Turning away so he wouldn’t notice, she motioned to the shampoos. “Use whichever one you want,” she said. “And keep in mind that it takes a while for the hot water to come out, so just be patient.”
“Will do,” he said. “But I did want to ask if it’s okay to use your phone. I have to make a couple of calls.”
She nodded. “The phone’s in the kitchen.”
Edging past him, she sensed him watching her again, though she didn’t turn around to check. Instead, she went to her room, closed the door behind her, and leaned against it, embarrassed at the foolish way she’d been feeling. Nothing had happened, nothing would happen, she told herself again. She locked the door, hoping it would be enough to block out her thoughts. And it worked, at least for a moment, until she noticed that he’d placed her suitcase in her room.
Knowing that he’d been in here moments before gave her such a rush of forbidden anticipation that, even though she willed her mind blank, she had to admit that she’d been lying to herself all along.
By the time Jeremy returned to the kitchen after his shower, he could smell the sauce as it simmered on the stove. He finished his beer, found the garbage can below the sink, and threw the bottle away, then got another from the fridge. On the shelf below, he saw a fresh block of Parmesan cheese and an unopened jar of Amfiso olives; he debated sneaking one before deciding against it.
Locating the phone, he dialed Nate’s office number and was put through immediately. For the first twenty seconds, he held the receiver away from his ear while Nate went off the deep end, but when he finally calmed down, he reacted positively to Jeremy’s suggestion about the meeting next week. Jeremy ended the call with a promise to talk to him again tomorrow morning.
Alvin, on the other hand, was impossible to reach. After dialing the number and getting his voice mail, Jeremy waited for a minute and tried again with the same result. The clock in the kitchen showed that it was almost six, and Jeremy figured that Alvin was somewhere on the highway. Hopefully, they’d have a chance to talk before he went out tonight.
With nothing else to do and Lexie still nowhere in sight, Jeremy slipped out the back door and stood on the porch. The chill had deepened. The ever-increasing wind was cold and sharp, and though he couldn’t see the ocean, the waves rolled continuously, the sound rhythmic, lulling him into an almost trancelike state.
In time, he headed back into the darkened living room. Peeking down the hall, he noted a sliver of light beneath Lexie’s closed door. Unsure of what to do next, he turned on a small reading lamp near the fireplace. With just enough light to spill shadows through the room, he perused the books that had been stacked on top of the mantel before remembering the satchel. In his haste to get here, he hadn’t looked at Doris’s notebook yet, and after pulling it out of the satchel, he carried it with him back to the easy chair. As he took his seat, he felt the tension in his shoulders begin to ease for the first time in hours.
Now, this, he thought, was nice. No, change that. This felt like the way things always should be.
Earlier, as she heard Jeremy close the door to his room, Lexie stood near the window and took a pull of her beer, glad she had something to calm her nerves.
Both of them had kept their kitchen conversation superficial, keeping their distance until things were sorted out. She knew she should stay the course when she headed back out there, but as she set her beer aside, she realized that she didn’t want to keep her distance. Not anymore.
Despite the knowledge of the risks, everything about him had drawn her closer—the surprise at seeing him walking toward her on the beach, his easy smile and tousled hair, the nervous, boylike gaze—and in that instant, he’d been both the man she knew and the man she didn’t. Though she hadn’t admitted it to herself then, she realized now that she wanted to know the part of him he’d kept hidden from her, whatever that might be and wherever it might lead.
Two days ago, she would never have imagined something like this was possible, especially with a man she barely knew. She’d been hurt before, and she realized now that she’d reacted to the hurt by retreating into the safety of solitude. But a risk-free life wasn’t much of a life, really, and if she was going to change, she might as well start now.
After showering, she sat on the edge of the bed as she unzipped the top pocket of her suitcase and retrieved a bottle of lotion. She applied some to her legs and arms, smoothing it over her br**sts and belly, relishing the vibrant way it made her skin feel.
She hadn’t brought anything fancy to wear; in her rush to get out in the morning, she’d grabbed the first things she could find, and she sorted through the suitcase until she found her favorite pair of jeans. Deeply faded, they were ripped at the knees and the cuffs were frayed. But the endless washing had softened and thinned the denim, and she was aware of how they accentuated her figure. She felt a secret thrill at her certainty that Jeremy would notice.
She slipped into a long-sleeved white shirt, which she didn’t bother to tuck in, and rolled the sleeves up to her elbows. Standing in front of the mirror, she buttoned the front, stopping one button lower than she normally would, revealing the briefest glimpse of her cl**vage.
She dried her hair with a blow-dryer and ran a brush through it. For makeup, she did the best with what she had, applying a touch of blush to her cheeks, eyeliner, and lipstick. She wished she had some perfume, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that now.
When she was ready, she tugged at her shirt in the mirror in an attempt to make it look just right, pleased with how she looked. Smiling, she tried to remember the last time looking good had really mattered to her.
Jeremy was sitting in the chair with his feet propped up when she came into the room. He looked up at her, and for a moment, it seemed as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he just stared.
Unable to look away from Lexie, he suddenly knew why it had been so important to find her again. He’d had no choice, for he knew then that he was in love with her.
“You look . . . incredible,” he finally whispered.
“Thank you,” she said, hearing the raw emotion in his voice and reveling in the way it made her feel. Their eyes met and held, and in that instant, she understood that the message in his gaze was mirroring her own.
Fifteen
For a moment, neither of them seemed able to move, until Lexie drew a long breath and glanced away. Still shaken, she raised her bottle slightly.
“I think I need another one of these,” she said with a tentative smile. “Would you like one?”
Jeremy cleared his throat. “I already got one. Thanks.”
“I’ll be back in a minute. I should check on the sauce, too.”
Lexie headed for the kitchen on unsteady legs, and she stopped before the stove. The wooden spoon had left a smudge of tomato sauce on the counter after she had picked it up to stir, and she put it in the same spot when she was finished. Then, opening the refrigerator, she took out another beer and set it on the counter, along with the olives. She tried to open the jar, but because her hands were trembling, she couldn’t get the grip she needed.
“Need a hand with that?” Jeremy asked.
She looked up, surprised. She hadn’t heard him come in, and wondered if her feelings were as obvious as they felt.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said.
Jeremy took the olives from her. She watched the sinewy muscles of his forearms as he twisted the cap off. Then, eyeing her beer, he opened that as well and handed it to her.
He wouldn’t meet her eyes, nor did he seem to want to say anything more. In the stillness of the room, she watched him lean against the counter. The overhead light was on, but without the fading light of dusk streaming through the windows, it seemed softer than it had when they started cooking.
Lexie took a mouthful of beer, savoring the taste, savoring everything about the evening: the way she looked and felt and the way he’d stared at her. She was close enough to reach out and touch Jeremy and for a fleeting moment almost did, but instead, she turned away and went to the cupboard.