We text for a few more minutes about the new anesthesiologist who’s apparently sendinginterestedvibes. When Eli comes back downstairs, I tell her I have to go and make sure my phone is hidden in my purse in case she decides to be sneaky again.
“Sorry about that,” he says as he turns the heat up on the stove and stirs the sauce. “Two stories weren’t enough tonight. She needed three.”
“I told you, hard head.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He adds pasta to the pot of boiling water he’d asked me to start for him while I go set the table, rifling through a few drawers before finding the placemats, plates, and utensils.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask once I’m done.
“Yes. Open the bottle of wine in the fridge and pour yourself a glass while I finish up.”
I’m not sure wine is the best idea in this context, but I also wouldn’t mind a glass after the week I’ve had. I do as he says, pouring him one, too.
“I can’t thank you enough for today,” he tells me after taking a sip. “You’ve been a lifesaver.”
I clink his glass. “Purely selfish reasons. That grass was killing me softly.”
“Still. I needed it.”
I give him another cheers. “Then I’m happy I was here.”
His autumn eyes remain on me for a long time—so long, tingles start climbing my arms. Then, he turns toward his recipe and finishes preparing the meal.
The plate he brings me five minutes later smells like garlic and herbs, with large shrimps decorating the pasta, and the first bite I take almost makes my eyes roll.
“God, this is good,” I say around a mouthful. The second bite is even better. “Seriously, I don’t know when’s the last time I ate a home cooked meal this good.”
“That was Ruth’s favorite recipe of mine,” he says.
I take a gulp of wine to bring my bite down. “I never properly thanked you, for being there for her.” Heat blooms across my chest, at the reminder that he witnessed the entire thing during our celebration for Ruth—which ended up being the opposite of a celebration—but he deserves to hear it, nonetheless.
“It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t. And I’m glad she got to eat food like this.” Glad she hadsomeone to talk to when she was probably spending most of her time inside her house. Glad for him in general.
“She helped me a lot when I first got custody of Zoe. It was the least I could do.”
Of course, Ruth would have done that for him.
I put my fork down. “Was she… Was she okay, in the end?”
He knows what I mean. She was dying, obviously, but for Ruth, physical health would’ve been the least of her worries.
“Yeah. She was.” He moves some of his pasta around. “She loved to talk about the past. About you, too. She was so proud, you know.”
I do know. She told me every time we spoke. Still, it doesn’t stop tears from filling my eyes. I nod at him, which I hope he catches as the thanks I want to give him.
We return to our plates, and I finish mine more rapidly than I’d care to admit. “Zoe doesn’t know what she’s missing.”
“She’d agree to disagree.” He looks down, a flush painting the tops of his cheeks pink.
“I never thought you’d follow in your father’s footsteps, but now that I see it, it makes so much sense.” Eliwouldbe the person who’d want to spend his Saturday night locked inside a kitchen to make sure every guest had the best experience.
“I never thought so, either.” He wipes his lips with his napkin. “After college, I was… confused.”
My brows bunch. “But you loved studying business.” By the time I left, he was up in the clouds with all the possibilities ahead of him.
“I did, for a while. And then it started to feel… meaningless.” He quickly looks up, then returns his attention to his plate. “Dad had recently passed, and you were gone, and—” He stops himself abruptly like he’s touched a beast we’d silently promised to leave alone. “I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. I figured I’d start in a restaurant to make a bit of money, and I actually liked it. It didn’t feel like being Dad’s assistant anymore. I loved learning from the different chefs I worked under. Loved to see the customers happy and being able to make food my family and friends enjoyed. I never planned on doing catering or having my own restaurant. But when I’d been working at this place in Portland for a while, some acquaintances asked for catered meals for parties one summer, and after that, the contracts kept coming. Got some employees, and now here I am.” He takes a long gulp of wine. “Having flown a little too close to the sun.”
