Page 53 of What We Break
As she starts building the sauce, I can't take my eyes off her. She tastes as she goes, adjusting seasonings, explaining what she's doing.
"See how the garlic gets fragrant but not brown? That's when you add the tomatoes."
"Mm-hmm." I'm nodding, but I have no idea what she just said. Something about tomatoes.
She's not putting on a show—she's just sharing something she enjoys. I also get the feeling she's gently trying to teach me. But I can't focus on her words. She's too distracting with her smiles and the way she casually brushes her hair away from her face. She’s got the cutest little furrow between her brows when she's concentrating.
Focus, man. This is supposed to be helping us get to know each other. And all you've been able to do is stare at her like a lovesick idiot.
"Reid? Did you hear me?"
"Absolutely." I have no idea what she said. "One hundred percent."
She gives me a knowing look. "I asked if you could start the pasta water."
"Right. Yes. Pasta water. On it." Pots. Where are the damn pots. "Did you learn to cook from your family?" I ask.
"God no!" She laughs and shakes her head. "I didn't mean for it to come out that way. But my parents traveled around a lot—missionary work, building churches and community centers. We were always living in a community setting, and they let other people do the cooking. Mom and Dad are better at logistics and construction than they are at feeding a crowd. To be honest, my Mom tries, but she is a terrible cook. Like, really awful." She stirs the sauce, smiling at some memory. "When I got older, it was trial and error, mostly. When you're moving every few months, eating out gets expensive. Plus, I like feeding people." She grins at me. "It's another way of taking care of them."
"I'm sensing a theme with you."
"What theme?"
"Taking care of people. It's kind of your thing."
She shrugs, but she looks pleased. "There are worse things to be known for."
The sauce is starting to smell incredible, rich and complex. Lainehas me salt the pasta water and set the table while she puts the finishing touches on everything.
"Wine?" she asks, holding up the bottle she brought.
"Definitely."
This feels right. Pouring her a glass of wine, meeting her eyes across the kitchen. Laughing with her. All of it is so much better than I thought it would be.
"Reid?" Laine is looking at me, head tilted, hair cascading down her shoulder. "You okay? You got quiet all of a sudden."
"Yeah, I'm good. Better than good, actually."
"Good. Because I'm about to find out if my sauce is as good as I think it is, and I need moral support."
I step up to the stove with her, watching her stir and scoop out a taste with a spoon. And yep, I stare as she blows on it, then slides the spoon past those gorgeous lips of hers. The little happy sigh she makes hits me right in the chest.
I have to grip the edge of the countertop and press my hips against it. Get it together, Garrison.
Then those rich dark eyes are on mine, and she brings the spoon toward my mouth.
Distracted, I open my mouth like an idiot, and she shakes her head with a laugh.
"It's hot," she says, and blows on it for me.
Right. Forgot that part. Forgot everything, actually, because now her breath is tickling my lips and she's standing so close I can smell her shampoo and my brain has completely short-circuited.
I have no idea what to do with this level of want. No idea what the right next step is. I'm stuck in the land of overthinking, and all I can do is open my mouth and let her slide the spoon in.
The sauce is good. Really good. I think. Honestly, she could have put charcoal in my mouth and I'd happily eat it.
"Good?" she asks, and her voice is a little breathless too.
