Page 49 of Endeavor
Emma,
Hi. I will look over this later today. Why don’t you come to my Malibu house for dinner tonight around six? I made a ton of my famous ravioli and would love for you to try it.
Xoxo,
Blythe
I grin.I could use a home-cooked meal that isn’t ramen noodles or bologna sandwiches. A stellar chef, I am not. And I just haven’t had time to cook any real food. My mouth waters at the sound of home-cooked ravioli.
I reply with a yes. And get back to my studying.
The next time I look up, the clock reads four, and I jump up to shower. I get ready in record time and hop in my old beat-up car. I debated not bringing my car to school because it’s seen better days, but moments like this make me happy that I have it and don’t have to worry about the money for a car service or a cab. And my condo has a coveted parking spot which was the main selling feature.
I get to Blythe’s house about fifteen minutes early. I press the call button at her gate, and it swings open. I pull my car up and park. A woman greets me at the front door.
“You must be Emma,” she says in a raspy voice.
I nod.
“Ms. Daniels has cocktails waiting for you on the deck. Make yourself at home. Dinner will be served shortly. I’m Vera, don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.” She holds out her arm, ushering me into the house.
I follow the hallway to the deck and see the side table which holds a pitcher of sangria and a bunch of very cool glasses. I pick one up, studying it. It’s clear in some parts but has wavey blue and green sections. I pour myself a glass and plop down on one of the lounge chairs. I check my phone.
Blythe: Something has come up. I’m so sorry, dear. Vera is warming up the ravioli. Please help yourself and enjoy the evening. I’ll set up a rain check meal soon.
I sigh and contemplate leaving, but the smell of dinner wafts out of the screen door.
“Fuck it,” I say to myself.
“I’m sorry, what?”
My face drains of color at the sound of his voice. I turn slowly and my gaze meets Grady’s. And then it hits me, she fucking set us up. When she asked about Grady the other day, I already knew Grady had told her he ended things by the way she questioned me. She assured me that whether I dated her son or not, she would still be my advisor and she’d still think I was wonderful. That made me smile a little.
I stand to leave, not wanting to be a part of this setup.
“Let me guess. My mother offered to serve you her world-famous ravioli. And just now, she conveniently canceled,” he says, his face deadpan.
I nod, realization taking over as I look at him. I try to stop the laugh that bubbles up, but I can’t help it. “She set us up, didn’t she?”
He nods, looking around. Eyeing the sangria, he pours himself a glass and walks over to me. “Don’t go.”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
He sighs and runs his hand through his hair and my body trembles with the memory of how that hair felt in between my fingers.
“I deserve that,” he states, grimacing.
“Yeah, you do.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Vera calls out from the kitchen.
I groan because now I’ll look like a bitch if I leave. Glaring at Grady, I brush past him, determined to eat my damn meal, and then get the hell out of this house. I dread having a future conversation with Blythe about her staying out of my love life.
I sit down at the kitchen bar top that has been set as Vera places in front of me a plate of the most-delicious-smelling food ever.
I take a small bite and moan. “That is amazing.”
I glance up and meet Grady’s hooded gaze. It’s like he’s fucking me with his eyes. I blush and look away.
