Page 44 of Blindside Love

The only thing I can think of is that this has to be Tom’s fault.

There’s no question in my mind that the motherfucker made her feel this way, and I’ll be damned if she gave her all to someone who used his power to break her down and make her feel less than.

I set down the bottle of wine and take the three strides to her. Gently gripping her jaw, I tilt her face up until she’s forced to look at me.

“I want you to listen to me, mmkay, kitten? You’re gorgeous, absolutely, without a doubt, stunning. Your hair is just one part of who you are. You’re an incredible mom, an amazing friend, and a damn good neighbor,” I tell her with a wink, earning me a smile as she turns away to hide her blush. “I love it, though. It’s part of you, it’s badass, and somehow, it fits so well with your wild spirit.”

“So, you don’t think it should be my natural color? That I’ll be taken more seriously if I was a blonde instead of a pixie?”

“What did he say to you?” I ask, her jaw still in my hand, and I feel her swallow nervously, her eyes quickly looking to the side until I growl, “Ellie.”

“He never liked it when I strayed from what he deemed ‘appropriate,’ and he always made it known. Whether it was my clothes, my hair, my damn nail color, he had an opinion about fucking everything,” Ellie says. “When I left him, the first thing I did was buy hair dye and had Natalie help me make the change. I also chopped it off because he loved my long hair, and honestly, I hated the fucking idea of him loving anything about me, let alone having control over anything.”

“Good for you, kitten,” I tell her, my thumb gently caressing her cheek as I continue gripping her jaw, my other hand leans on the counter next to her, holding her in place, trying to fight off the urge to touch her more. “The next time that motherfucker has anything to say about literally anything to do with you, tell him to come talk to me. I don’t care what color your hair is, pink, purple, blonde—none of that matters to me. You’re fucking amazing regardless.”

She blushes, so I know I’ve embarrassed her, but as she looks up at me, she no longer seems uncomfortable, she seems strong.

Leaning forward, I press a kiss on her forehead before taking a step back.

“Now, wine first or are we starting with cooking first?”

“I think we should save the wine for later, you know, that way, I know you have a clear head after dinner.” With a wink, she steps past me, moving over to where she’s laid out everything to make our dinner, grabbing an apron and starting to put it on. “I figured we would start with something a little on the easier side. Besides, I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t like pasta, so if you had a problem with it, I’ll have my answer about you.”

“Your answer for what?” I ask.

“On whether or not I can keep you around.” She grins as she ties her apron. “So tell me, what can you cook?”

“Cereal and anything involving the microwave. Well, as long as it comes with instructions that are actually correct.”

She raises an eyebrow with a cute smirk as she shakes her head at me. What? It was one time! I put the ramen in the microwave for the right amount of time. Apparently, I forgot to put water in the bowl, so… rookie mistake.

“Okay, let’s start with the basics. We’re making spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread because, well, duh. I’ll start getting everything together for the meatballs. Would you grab a pot and put water in it to start boiling for the noodles?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I smirk, grabbing the pot she pointed to and fill it with water. I sneak a quick glance in her direction and see that she’s grabbing an onion. She’s all bossy and in control in the kitchen, and it’s sexy as fuck. She’s so confident in what she’s doing that somehow, I’m getting turned on watching her dice a damn onion. She catches me staring at her and blushes but immediately points to the stove. “Finish what you’re doing, mister. Then you can come help me.”

“So, bossy… I like it,” I tell her as I bring the pot to the stove and turn it on before returning back to where she’s compiling a bunch of random things into a bowl. She’s put hamburger, onions, breadcrumbs, eggs, and some random cheeses and spices. I’m sure these are going to turn out to be meatballs, but I couldn’t tell you what to do next.

“What can I do now?” I ask, hating the feeling of helplessness I get every time I’m in the kitchen. I like to help people out, especially when I’m over at someone’s house, but I don’t know jack shit about navigating a kitchen and couldn’t cook an actual balanced meal from scratch if my life depended on it.

Thankfully, Ellie is patient with me and helps me roll the meatballs, fry them up, and pop them in the oven to finish up. I felt like a baby deer trying to ice skate, completely out of place, while she maneuvered around me so effortlessly.

“You salted the water, right?” she asks as she goes to open the container of spaghetti noodles.

“Salted the water? Why the fuck would I salt the water? It’s… water,” I tell her, completely fucking confused. You don’t need to salt water, do you?

I must look like an idiot because she busts out laughing. “You’re so fucking cute, Trev.” She smiles. “You salt the water to season the pasta. It also helps make it not so gummy. Or at least that’s what my grandpa used to tell me.”

“Lesson learned. Salt the water. Now… where’s the salt?”

She points at the cabinet above the stove, which she’s barely tall enough to reach. “It’s up there,” she says, reaching up, leaning rather close to the boiling water.

Reaching forward, I grab her hips, pulling her back into me ever so slightly, getting her away from the open flame. But I don’t expect her body to immediately melt into mine, a soft sigh falling from her lips. It lasts just a second before I reach past her, one hand still on her hip, and grab the salt.

“Here, kitten,” I say, passing her the salt. “I don’t like you reaching over the stove like that.” I tell her, annoyed that she could have been hurt.

“Well, Addy sometimes likes to try and ‘cook,’ which usually means mixing up a bunch of spices and making a big ass mess for me to clean up, so I hid them.” She shrugs it off, adding the salt into the water and the spaghetti now that it’s boiling. “How come you never learned to cook?”

I think for a moment, not quite sure how to explain this. It’s not that I didn’t want to learn to cook. It was more that my mother loved providing that part of our lives for us; hell, she still does for me half the time. It’s sacred to her. I almost felt like if I learned how to do it on my own, she would feel like I didn’t need her. It sounds ridiculous, but it’s the truth.

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