cook so well?”
“The housekeeper had weekends off. My parents were usually out and about.”
I pause from opening the can of soup and watch him butter a piece of bread. “All weekend?”
“My mother had luncheons and fund-raisers. My father had a car-collecting hobby that filled every weekend. He could spend all Saturday and Sunday searching through car dealerships in a hundred-mile radius. I went with him once. Once was enough. He also dragged me to a few boring car shows.”
“What about at night?”
“They usually met up for dinner at some fancy restaurant. Sometimes I went along. By the time I was thirteen, I opted to stay home. Something like grilled cheese”—he pauses from buttering bread and grins—“tasted better than seared foie gras.”
“What exactly is foie gras?”
He picks up the spatula and spins it. “The liver of a duck or a goose that’s especially fattened to make it a delicacy.”
My nose wrinkles. “Yuck.”
“Thought so too at thirteen, but I tried it again in France. It’s not too bad. Pretty good with a glass of red wine.” He flicks on a burner.
I shake the can of soup into the pot. “Ah, France,” I say dreamily.
“We should go someday.”
“Did you forget I have a son? And limited resources?”
He drops a sandwich in the waiting skillet. “I have resources, and why not take Ben?”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“
The can in my hand nearly clanks to the floor. “You speak French?”
“
He’s too hot, standing in my kitchen half-naked but speaking French? He’s hotter than hell. I almost fan myself. “What did you say?”
“First?” He pushes a strand of wayward hair from my bun behind my ear. “‘It could be.’ Then ‘A little, and not perfect.’”
Still dumbfounded by him, I spend a moment figuring out his responses. “Nothing’s easy with a five-year- old.” I stand next to him, brushing his arm with mine as I stir the soup. “Did you learn to speak it while you were there?”
He flips a sandwich. “Mostly. I took two years of it in high school but a month there was worth more than two years in the classroom.”
“So you don’t know Italian.”
“
I tilt my head in question.
“The basics.”
“Like?”
My laugh cuts him off. “That’s all food and alcohol,” I say, nudging him with my hip.
He hip-nudges me back. “That’s the important stuff.”
We’re standing there grinning at each other when the apartment door opens behind us.
Though I’m startled that someone is coming in, I’m thinking it’s Holly. Turning, I drop the tomato soup– covered spoon and it clanks on the tile as my heart drops to the tile too.
My father and Ben stand in the doorway.
Justin steps away from me and crosses his arms over his naked chest.
“Dad! What are you doing here?” Oh, crap, crap, crap. Oh, big-time crap! Why didn’t he call to say that he was dropping Ben off early? Why didn’t I give Justin his dang shirt? Because I’m a hormonal idiot who’s now preoccupied with
My father’s expression turns harsher as he stares at Justin. “Your mom and I have a retirement party this afternoon. She’s not cooking today.”
“Oh.” Why don’t people tell me this stuff? “Um—”
Ben tosses his backpack on the dining room table then points to Justin. “What’s he doing here?”
“Um…” My shocked brain is coming up with nothing.
My father’s jaw grows tighter.
Justin’s face appears serious. “Your mom called me over this morning to fix your leaky sink. She offered lunch as payment.”
Ben scoots onto a stool in front of the peninsula. “So you’re a…plumber? Don’t they wear shirts? Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
Justin twirls the spatula. “It’s in the dryer. Got wet while I was working.”
Ben’s forehead crinkles. “Where are your tools?”
“In the trunk of your mom’s car.”
Okay, Justin’s kicking butt here, at least with Ben. My father is a totally different story. Though I’m relieved Ben’s still clueless about us, the lies coming out of Justin’s mouth have me a bit worried.
“So you’re good at fixing things?” Ben asks, tilting his chin.
Justin nods with an air of indifference. “Almost the best.”
After adjusting his glasses, Ben jumps off the stool. “Then you gotta come to my room and help me.”
“You need something fixed?” Justin asks him but looks to me.
I nod an okay as Ben yells from the hallway, “Something super important!”
Justin turns the burner off under the grilled cheese. “Be right back.”
Once they’re gone, my father comes and stands on the other side of the peninsula. Obviously upset with me, he’s even more intimidating in his Sunday khakis and a button-up dress shirt. He usually wears jeans and a flannel over an old T-shirt.
“It’s not what you think. We’ve been dating for a while,” I say, wishing I could melt into the floor. If there’s one person I don’t like letting down, it’s my father.
He lets out a sigh. “I’m not judging you, Allie. It’s not my place, but haven’t you been down this road? I was hoping you’d wait for marriage this time around.”
Staring at the counter, I can’t think of anything to say. I wanted to wait, but Justin blew into my life like a new song I became obsessed with overnight.
My father comes around the peninsula and lifts my chin gently. “For others to respect you, you have to respect yourself the most. Think about that.” He kisses my forehead and I tremble as he walks back to the door. “Take care of my boy,” he says like he always does when he leaves.
I stand in the middle of the kitchen until I notice the smell of burning tomato soup and notice that it’s bubbling and spitting all over the stove. I move the pan off the burner, wipe up the mess, and lean on the counter. The day is only half over, and so far it’s been a roller coaster of emotion. After a few deep, calming breaths, I find another can of soup and the ingredients for another grilled cheese for Ben.
My father’s words echo in my head as I turn the heat on again under the sandwiches and stir the soup. Though I do believe Justin respects me, I’m aware we are moving too fast. I dated Trevor for over a year in high school, then four months prior to getting married. Obviously, I should have taken more time then too. But with Trevor, I always had a desperate obsession with holding on to him, as if our connection were something that could slip through my fingers if I looked away for even a second. My obsession with Justin is entirely different. I want to be with him. I want to know everything about him. I want him to know everything about me. But I don’t have the need to hold on to him with a death grip. Because our connection feels mutual.
I’m about to get Justin and Ben, whom I suspect are working on the bridge Ben has been trying to create with his erector set, when my phone rings. Trevor’s number flashes across the screen. Knowing he’ll keep calling, I force myself to answer it.
Before I can even get out a hello he says, “Do you know how pissed I am?”
