Belle: See you at five, then.
She slipped the phone back into her pocket. Now, what to wear?
***
At five o’clock sharp, Belle knocked on Bently’s door. He opened it a moment later. His eyes lazily made their way up from the open-toed sandals she’d chosen to her white skinny jeans, and over the bohemian-style flowy crop top partially hidden by her leather jacket. When his gaze met hers, his wolfish grin widened. She swallowed.
“Can I come in or do you just want to stare at me all day?” she teased.
“I’m a multitasker. I am capable of doing both.” He stepped aside to let her in.
She glanced towards the living room off to her right. The simple brown leather couch and coffee table sat in the center in front of a large TV. His bookshelf situated opposite. But there were no pictures hanging on the wall or any other personal décor touches.
“Shall we?” he asked, waving his hand towards the kitchen on her left. She walked ahead, taking in the clean counters and small table they’d shared their late breakfast at. He was organized, she’d give him that.
“What’s for dinner?” she asked.
“My specialty—chicken Alfredo.”
“Mmm. What can I do to help?” She shrugged off her jacket and laid it over the back of the chair.
“You can slice the chicken while I start the sauce. Pasta water is already heating up.” He pointed to the cutting board and knife he’d laid out. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He held an apron up for her to slip her head inside.
She smiled and bowed her head. His hands slid down her arms to her waist as he turned her around. She swallowed back the shot of lust that blossomed within her. The fabric tightened around her hips as he tied the knot.
“All set.” The deep timbre of his voice made her inner walls clench. Maybe dinner alone wasn’t such a good idea after all.
They got to work, side by side. Bently strained broccoli and poured heavy cream into another pan with butter. He added spices and cheese as he stirred. The timer for the pasta went off.
“Can you keep stirring this and I’ll take care of the noodles?” he asked. Her hand swept under his to take the whisk, lightly brushing against him.
“Do you want some coffee? I got that creamer you like.” He dumped the pasta in the colander.
He had? The small gesture brought warmth to her chest. “Sure.”
After all the ingredients were ready, Bently shooed her away to prepare the coffee while he made their plates.
She sat at the table and sipped her java while he set the steaming plate of savory creamy pasta in front of her.
“This smells divine,” she said.
“The noodles are gluten-free—it’s all I had on hand. Lyra and Remy have celiac disease.”
“Oh, I had no idea. Now it makes sense that her bakery is all gluten-free.”
She twisted the pasta on her fork and took a bite. She moaned. The food was so good. Licking her lips, she glanced at Bently. His jaw was set and his brow furrowed.
“What’s wrong? Is your injury bothering you?” she asked, worried.
“Oh, I’m definitely aching.” He smirked.
She rolled her eyes. They continued eating their dinner and making small talk.
“That was delicious. No man has ever cooked me dinner before.”
“I’m glad I could be your first,” he teased.
She drained the last of her coffee as he cleared his throat.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said . . . I thought maybe . . . I could try to open up with you. You get my kind of past . . . and I trust you.”
She took a deep breath, the weight of his words staggering her. He trusted her?
“Plus, we’d have doctor-patient confidentiality.” He smiled.
She chuckled. “I’m honored.”
“My mother killed herself.”
Whoa. He was diving straight in.
“Mikel was almost beaten to death by our father because I wasn’t there. Jasmine . . .” He ground his teeth, his eyes clouding over. “I failed to protect her too.” His eyelids fluttered before he locked eyes with her and continued. “You got TJ out. You were able to make a difference in his life. I waited too long. I should have gotten them out faster. I failed them. That’s my secret. That’s what kind of man I am.”
Was he trying to scare her away? She reached out and took his hand in hers. “How old were you when these things happened?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“So, you were young, then, a child?” He didn’t say anything, so she continued. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’m sorry that you felt all that grown-up responsibility on your shoulders as a boy. Would you expect Lyra to fight off a grown man from her mother?”
“No,” he snapped.
“You have to realize that you are holding yourself to impossibly high standards. And the guilt you carry will eat you alive.”
He shook his head.
“Grieving the loss is a process that helped me. The loss of childhood, of the naiveté I should have had, of the loving relationships I wished were there. Then you have to comfort your inner child. Let them know you have their back. That that little boy is safe inside you.”
His brow furrowed as he stared at her.
She sighed. “I know I can tell you it wasn’t your fault until I’m blue in the face, but the reality is, until you start to believe it, you’re still chained to the past.”
He nodded.
“You carry so much on these shoulders. Even now that your brother and sister are grown and on their own.”
“Jasmine still needs me.”
“Yes, I’m sure she does. But just not as her protector anymore. How would it feel if you were to only be her brother, rather than caretaker?”
His brow furrowed. “I don’t even know what that would look like.”
“You could talk to her and find out exactly what she needs from you,” she suggested.
He sat back in his chair, rubbing his thumb along the soft flesh of her hand.
“The thought of not being needed anymore is terrifying, isn’t it? When
