Page 58 of The Bright Side of Brooding
Chapter Twenty-Five
Nick
You have taken all the jagged edges and filed them smooth—you’ve brushed against the hardest parts and not surrendered. Where there is only steel and misery, you have taken your heat and light and melted me.
Feeding a woman who cooked like Summer proved to be a bit daunting. I didn’t allow myself to overthink. Rather, I doubled what I already planned to eat—my version of chicken piccata—and moved on.
I did recognize that an inability to cook for a woman who loved food the way she did could potentially be a dealbreaker. Then again, she loved cooking, so maybe she wouldn’t mind. I found my food edible, and so had anyone I’d cooked for, but expectations had always been low. And I’d only ever cooked for people I coached, who were unlikely to complain. Normally, meals in that context were baked or grilled meat, steamed or sauteed vegetables, and a big salad. We kept things simple during competitions.
I dressed in jeans and a button-up shirt. My house, as usual, welcomed me home the day before with only a few items out of place—a bright orange toy mouse belonging to Butter had migrated, and he’d also sharpened his claws on a roll of toilet paper. All in all, uneventful. This also meant any preparations for Summer were focused on food prep, and of course just getting through the workday before I got to see her again.
If Captain Wild noticed my distracted state, he didn’t mention it. He’d already heard the good news about the weekend, no doubt from Rob, so he congratulated me on the results. It was an excellent turn out, and it would be useful for marketing myself if I ever got around to doing that. While on active duty, I couldn’t pursue coaching full time, obviously. But the clock didn’t stop, and soon enough, I’d need to transition into the next phase. The only question was where, and with whom, if anyone.
By the time I arrived home, I had just forty minutes before Summer would be here. I scrambled through cleaning up and prepping, feeling more flustered than I could remember. I didn’t do things thatflusteredme, and yet knowing the woman would be in my space in a matter of minutes set me on an electric edge.
When the knock finally came, I stalked to the door, took a long, slow inhale and exhale to ground myself and halt the nerves, and opened it.
She beamed at me. An answering smile showed on my lips.
“Please come in,” I said, stepping aside so she could enter. Her sweet, warm scent caught me, and I followed after her inside like a puppy.
“I’m excited to see your house. I love seeing German homes. They’re all so unique.” She had a small box in her hand and a bottle of wine.
“They are. Yours is cozy.” Part of that was the design—the rich woods and the German stove in prime placement. Mine was utter contrast—far more modern. But hers felt cozy because she’d made it that way, too. The bookshelves, the over-sized living room furniture, the large, welcoming table for hosting feast nights.
“Yours is really”—her eyes skated around, then circled back to me—“clean.”
I chuckled, and she smiled, all bright and a little wry. My chest tightened.
“It’s really nice,” she offered, like I’d need something to appease me after her first statement.
“I’ve admittedly spent less time on furniture for my home than I have on the gym. This living room is big enough that if I bought couches to fill it, I’d end up with overflow when I move to a smaller home.”
And I would. This place was likely double the size of whatever I’d end up with in the States when I retired. I didn’t mind the space, even the places that were empty. My couch, love seat, and coffee table fit most places I’d lived over the years, and they’d be more than enough wherever I ended up eventually.
“Makes sense. It is hard figuring out how much to decorate each place, especially if you’re not exactly sure how long you’ll be there.” She held up the wine with a raised brow.
“I’ll take that.” I moved to her, glad for an excuse to close the distance. She’d wandered over into the kitchen, no doubt eager to check out the setup in there.
“I wasn’t sure if you drink. I mean, I know you do, but I didn’t know if you normally do or only sometimes, but I wanted to bring something, so…”
Her voice trailed off when I took the bottle and set it on the counter next to us without looking away from her. “I’ll have a glass with you.”
“Okay.”
I wanted to kiss her. I felt it down to my toes. But I remembered my manners and instead said, “Let me take your coat.”
She unbuttoned the long sky-blue wool coat. It fit her perfectly—bright, cheery, and warm. I reached for the collar and held an edge while she maneuvered out of it. She wore jeans and a creamy, soft-looking shirt. I folded the coat over my arm, about to excuse myself to hang it, when she spoke.
“Can we just…” She took it from my arms and tossed it over a chair at the nearby dinner table, then slipped her arms under mine, stepped close, and pressed into me. She hugged me.
My arms came around her immediately. My heart thumped in blissful response, and I wrapped around her more fully—my shoulders and neck curved so my whole body hugged her back.
“This is nice,” she said, then let out a breath that made her whole body deflate.
“It is,” I agreed and inhaled her scent, that addictive combination I’d only been able to enjoy once or twice. She loosened her grip on me, so I did the same, letting my hand stroke along her back only to nearly swallow my tongue.
My breath caught and held as my hands ran down the track of her spine, the bare, warm skin there exposed. Somewhere below her midback, my fingers met the fibrous material of the top. The pleasing drape of fabric around her neck evidently dipped much farther down than I’d imagined.
