Chantelle unhooked her arm from his. “Foranother interview?”
“Think of it as an exclusive.”
“And you’re cooking?” She grinned.
“I can cook. Don’t forget the dinner I madefor your birthday.”
“Yes, and afterwards I was in the hospitalwith food poisoning.”
“I cooked the chicken right.” Was dinner evena good idea?
Chantelle tapped her lips with her fingers,but her smile gave her away. “Okay. What time?”
“Seven.”
“That’s a time for a date.”
He tilted his head to the side, loving herteasing. “Six-thirty.”
“Perfect.”
***
Lance moved his steaks around in the skillet,careful not to add too much heat to the pan. Steam brushed againsthis face. Chantelle would arrive any moment, and his steaks wereperfect. Diverting his attention to his side dishes, Dottie alreadyfinished the mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables. He rubbed hispalms together, his mouth watering at the sight of home-cookedfood.
Then the doorbell rang, and his heartskipped. Dottie would get the door on her way out, since he toldher he wouldn’t need her services for the rest of the evening.Checking the steaks one more time, he shut off the burner.
Lance grabbed two plates from his cabinet. Ifhe remembered, Chantelle liked ginger ale, so he retrieved a bottlefrom the bottom of his pantry.
“Smells good,” she said.
He turned with the bottle in his hand andstared. Without fail, she was wearing heels. They clicked as sheapproached his stainless steel stove. She hovered as she inspectedthe meal for the evening, and the corners of her mouth turnedup.
Chantelle then removed her black blazer fromher shoulders and draped it over the back of his chairs at thetable. “No dessert?”
He pivoted to open his stainless steelrefrigerator. Opening the left side for the freezer, he picked outtwo cartons of ice cream. “We have vanilla and chocolate?”
“Excellent choice. Always stick to thebasics.”
He gestured for her to have a seat. “Dinner’sready.”
“I can serve myself.”
“My way of apologizing again. I haven’t beenvery nice to you since you came back into town.”
“You were nice today.”
“Thank you.” He served her a plate of thesmothered steaks, mashed potatoes, and steamed vegetables. Hebrought it over to her just as she wrung her hands together.
“This looks amazing. I’ll bet it tastes greattoo.” She picked up her fork. Chantelle bowed her head for a momentand then took a bite from her meal. She hummed in apparentsatisfaction.
“You like it?” He asked.
“Amazing. When did you learn how tocook?”
Lance served his own plate and then took hisseat across from her. “My grandmother gave me some pointers beforeshe passed. It’s easier when Dottie is here, and I have to give hercredit with the mashed potatoes and vegetables. I made thesteaks.”
“I approve,” Chantelle said. “It reminds meof the cook-off our senior class did. What was it again?Chili?”
Lance chuckled, making sure he swallowedfirst so he wouldn’t choke. “That was you or Grant. Too muchpaprika.”
“Me?”
“Yes. We also had Jenny, Sophia, Brian, and…Who was that other boy? His head was always in a book.” He tiltedhis head as he tried to recall their former classmate. “I thinkthat was… J… Javier!”
Chantelle nodded, but avoided eye contact.“That was him. He was the smartest boy I knew. Between reading andinventing something, he was always nice to me.”
Lance’s scalp prickled. “He had a crush onyou.”
She raised her chin. “You don’t knowthat.”
Lance shook his head. “He did. I could tell.”He took another bite from his steak.
“He was sweet. I may have gone out with himif he’d asked.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
She nodded. “I would. There’s no harm ingiving a person a chance.”
He stared at his plate. “I’ll rememberthat.”
Continuing with their meal, they ate insilence. Lance glanced at the clock on the wall. His limbs tingledas he attempted to relax. Was it the fact that she was sittingacross from him? At least they were trying to patch things up.
“So how’s Andrea?” Chantelle asked.
“I haven’t talked to her today. I’ll call herlater.”
“Is she nice?”
“What?”
“Tell me more about her. There’s thisstereotype that celebrities are rude. They have this sense ofentitlement because they made it in their careers that and everyoneelse is beneath them. What’s Andrea like?”
Lance scratched his chin. He couldn’t say.The times he spent with Andrea in public, she was generous with herfans. She took selfies when asked and gave out autographs. Inrestaurants, she was gracious to the waiters. She tipped well andgave smiles to admirers on the street. Was that for show? Did heknow her as well as he thought he did?
“From what I’ve seen, yes. Andrea doesn’tmind showing kindness to her friends.” Lance swallowed anotherpiece of the steak, tasting the mushrooms he had sautéed.
“I was hoping you would say that.”
“What about you?”
She took a sip from her glass of ginger ale.“What about me?”
“Anyone back in Chicago?” He couldn’t helpit.
Chantelle shook her head. “No, I’ve beenfocused on my writing.”
“All work and no play, huh?” Lance didn’tknow why he coaxed. A part of him didn’t care, but the other knewhe would always be connected to her. Despite what happened, hewanted Chantelle happy.
She dabbed the corners of her mouth with anapkin. “There was someone a while back, but…”
“But what?”
She pointed to her face. “All he saw wasthis.”
Lance leaned back in his chair. “Whathappened?”
Chantelle rolled her eyes as if annoyed tothink about it. “We dated for about six months, but he didn’t wantto get to know the real me. At parties, he would show me off like atrophy wife. He was studying to be a doctor. He was in his lastyear of residency and he thought having me on his arm would gainattention. It did, but I’m not a trophy.”
“No, you’re not.” He leaned forward.“Chantelle, you’re gorgeous, but you’re not conceited. You don’tflaunt yourself to make people feel insecure. You inspire them andlet them know beauty is only skin deep. Your heart’s pure. That’swhat makes you beautiful.”
Her gaze softened towards him. Her lipsparted, but she only took another sip from her glass of ginger ale.Chantelle placed her palms on the table and met his gaze. “Thankyou, Lance.”
“You’re welcome. I meant it too.” He wipedhis hands clean on his napkin. He scooted his chair back and stoodto his feet. “Are you finished?”
“I can help with cleaning up.” Sheoffered.
“No, you’re a guest,” he said.
She shook her
