Page 35 of Running Into You
The garlic bread is prepped and ready for the oven, and the water is boiling for the fettuccini. Betty should be here any minute, so I open the wine to let it breathe. The table is set with the nicest things I have in my new apartment, but that’s not saying much. I stop to think that maybe I’m trying too hard, but I can’t help it; I want to impress her. The last two days with her have been amazing and if I was thinking about her too much before, it was nothing compared to now.
It’s not just that the sex had been incredible, though it had been. I’d never wanted someone so much or felt so wanted in return. I feel a giddiness when she’s in the room; she makes me feel lighter. I don’t know how I convinced myself that I could keep things casual with Betty, because there is nothing casual about how I feel about her. I shake my head as I finish tidying up the kitchen. She doesn’t want to be in a relationship; I remind myself. I laugh to myself, even though it isn’t funny. I’m falling for my neighbor, who happens to be my sister’s best friend and who doesn’t want a boyfriend. Great work, Josh.
I hear Betty’s knock and jog to answer the door. When I do, the sight of her practically knocks the wind out of me. Her hair is loose and falls lightly over her shoulders. Her dark blue dress fits her perfectly, clinging to her curves but still flowing around her. She’s wearing heels, which I’ve never seen her in before. After taking her in, I look at her face and notice that something is not right. She’s smiling, or at least attempting to, but her face is tight, and her body is tense.
“Hey,” I say softly, reaching for her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head with a laugh. She doesn’t meet my eyes.
“Betty.” I cup her chin in my hand, urging her to look up at me. She does and the look in her eyes is enough to break my heart. “Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing, really.” She looks away from me as she walks further into my apartment, taking in her surroundings. “My mother just called. She doesn’t do that often and I guess it just caught me off guard.”
“I didn’t know whether or not you two stayed close after she left.” I knew that her mom had moved away after the divorce, but I’d assumed they’d kept in contact.
“Close?” She scoffs, looking at my bookshelf in the corner. “We would have had to have been close in the first place in order to stay close.” Her fingers reach out and touch the framed photo of my undergraduate convocation. My mother has always been my biggest fan and I can’t imagine not having a relationship with her. Hell, even despite the tension between my dad and me, I’ve never doubted that he loves me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it.
“It’s okay. I just didn’t expect to hear from her.” She turns back to me and shrugs. “You look very handsome.” I’d changed into a button-down shirt and jeans for our date.
Not a date, I remind myself.
“You look downright edible.” I close the distance between us and lean in for a kiss. I had only intended for it to be a quick peck, but once my lips meet hers, they don’t want to leave. She’s put on some sort of lip balm and she tastes like vanilla. I could stand here kissing her all night but remember that I have several things going on in the kitchen and reluctantly pull myself away.
“Wine?” I ask, leading her toward the kitchen.
“Yes, please.”
I pour her a generous glass of pinot noir and she settles at the kitchen table. I put the garlic bread in the oven and add the fettuccini to the now boiling water. The white sauce is simmering nicely. I can feel her watching me and I’m enjoying the attention.
“Do you cook often?” she asks as she sips her wine. She’s gathered her hair to one side, and I fight the urge to abandon my culinary projects to nuzzle her exposed neck.
“Not as often as I should,” I admit. “Mostly pasta or quick meals for the week. I’m not great at food planning and I end up grabbing pre-made stuff more than I should. But I like cooking on the weekends when I have more time.” I’m already thinking that the leftovers of this meal will make a great lunch on Monday.
“I prepare most of my food for the week on Sundays,” she confesses.
“Seriously?” I say, giving the pasta a stir. “That sounds boring.”
“It’s not boring!” She sounds defensive. “It’s responsible. I like having a plan and following it. Can I help with something?”
“No. But what if you get a craving for something on a day you’ve got a meal planned?”
“I eat what I’ve got prepped and maybe add what I’m craving to the next week’s meal plan,” she says thoughtfully.
“Like I said. Boring.” I grin at her.
“Some people like delayed gratification,” she says, getting up and walking to the sink, her body lightly brushing my back as she walks by. She leans on the counter and continues to watch me.
“Not this guy.” I step away from the stove and wrap myself around her again. She squeals as I bury my face in her neck and lift her off the ground. I set her back down but keep her pinned to the counter. “I want what I want when I want it.” I lean in to kiss her just as the timer sounds, letting me know the pasta is done.
“Hold that thought.” She laughs, slipping out of my arms. It is so easy to be distracted by her, and right now I have a meal to get on the table. I drain the pasta and add it to the sauce. It needs a couple of minutes to sit, so I check on the garlic bread and remove it from the oven. Betty takes her seat at the table. “That smells amazing.”
“It’s simple but tasty,” I say, plating our meal. I bring our plates to the table, then head back for my forgotten wine. I choose the seat across from her instead of the one right next to her because I’ll get to look at her more. I love looking at her. I raise my glass to hers. “To week one.”
“To week one,” she repeats, beaming. She looks so much happier than when she arrived twenty minutes ago and knowing I helped makes me feel ten feet tall.
The conversation during dinner is relaxed. She tells me about the different sorts of clients she works with at Advantage. I get the feeling that it’s not her dream job, but she seems to enjoy it all the same. I share more details about my work. I feel like I’m going to be happy at this school. I talk about some of the programs I’m hoping to start with the kids. She’s a great listener and has lots of questions about the work I do, as well as my past training. She’s so easy to talk to, and before I know it, it’s almost ten. We’ve been sitting here talking for hours. She insists on helping with cleanup and we continue to talk while loading the dishwasher and washing the few pots I’ve used.
