Page 28 of From the Ashes
His eyes furrow. “Sure?”
I nod. “Yes.”
Ben used to say that tap water was for poor people. I drank sparkling water for four years with him and I have no desire to drink it again. Never liked the taste of it anyway. After serving us large glasses, he comes back near me and sits on the stool next to mine. From here, we oversee the city, and yet, it’s calm and peaceful. I’m not even bothered by the height. As soon as the food touches my tongue, I'm met with the most delicious flavors and hum without thinking about it. A memory flashes before me, the familiar voice slapping me right in the face as I drop my fork into the plate.
“I invite you to a Michelin-star restaurant and you blow on your food like a four-year-old. I mean, c’mon, look at you, Lana. Where are your manners?”
Breathe, it’s in the past.
Let it stay there.
“You alright?” Carter asks, scrutinizing me with his cobalt gaze.
I nod, trying to shake myself back to reality. “It’s delicious, did you make the pesto too?”
“Yeah, it’s not hard, just a bunch of basil with oil and pine nuts,” he explains, his mouth twitching. Does it mean that he’s kind of smiling when he does that? He never does, but I could almost tell when he’s smiling, not because of his lips, but because the corners of his eyes crease a bit. Maybe I need to learn how to read him, too.
“Well, it’s delicious. Thank you so much,” I say, taking another bite. He nods, then swallows. “Have you, um, have you been living here a long time?”
“Bought it two years ago, I had another flat before but it was smaller. I needed more space.”
“I see,” I say, taking in the size of the room again, “you definitely have a lot of space here, I mean, this place is huge.”
“Do you like it?”
“Your flat?”
“Yes.” He’s looking at me with intensity, like my answer will decide his next course of action.
“I do. It’s really nice. Even if I could never live in a place like this and keep it tidy like you do,” I admit, shaking my head.
“I got a housekeeper,” he mutters, turning his body slightly to mine, making us face each other.
“Even without one, I bet you’d still keep it in order.” I smile and take a glance at him.
“Yeah, maybe.” He nods, his gaze disappearing far away.
“What about my house, you’ve been there once, but what’d you think of it?” Now that I know what his place looks like, I can’t imagine the shock it was for him to see mine.
“There were a lot of colors,” he delivers blankly, and I can’t suppress my laugh.
“I love colors. I couldn’t always choose what I wanted in my home back then…so I made it exactly the way I wanted it now.”
“Make sense,” he grunts, pouring more water in my glass from the jug. “I liked your home. Felt homey. Here it’s…a bit clinical.” Somehow, his answer makes my chest tighten.
“Perhaps you could add a bit of color, you know, a cushion or some drapes here and there,” I offer, studying his face, and my eyes drift to his golden stubble and how rough yet soft they seem to feel. If only I could…
No.
Stay focused.
This is a date, not a how-does-his-stubble-feels-like kind of lunch.
“Maybe you could help me with that.” He shrugs and I swear his eyes are smiling at me.
“Are you smiling, like right now?” I ask without caring if I’m being too direct. He’s honest with me so I might as well play cards on the table too.
“What?”
