I laugh and grab his hand, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.
“You’re shameless,” I inform him, and he shrugs his assent.
“How could I not be?” he growls as we head inside. “Have you seen yourself lately, Miss James?”
I shake my head, grinning wide, and sit on a stool by the kitchen counter as he puts the wine in the freezer to chill.
“How was the drive here?” he asks.
“Great! It’s such a nice day for autumn,” I say. “And I couldn’t stop thinking about what you’re going to cook for me.”
Rick laughs. He’s a great chef, and insists on making delicious meals whenever I come over. All I am ever asked to do is bring the wine. I’m certainly not complaining.
“Pasta carbonara with balsamic bruschetta,” he proclaims, and I clap my hands in glee. “Sounds better than that cafeteria food, huh?”
“You have no idea,” I groan. “Next time, we should probably just have a salad, though. I’ve gained, like, fifteen pounds from the cafeteria.”
Rick throws me a sizzling glance and walks over to me, placing his hands on my hips. “Your curves,” he intones, “are perfect.” He moves his hands slowly up and down my sides, making me shiver. “Don’t you dare believe otherwise.” With that, he kisses the tip of my nose, making me giggle. Somehow, he always knows exactly what to say.
“How long have you been dreaming about my curves?” I ask playfully, tilting my head.
He snorts and shakes his head.
“Years,” he drawls. “Seeing you here for a sleepover, prancing around the house in nothing a t-shirt and short shorts was pure hell. At first, I tried to make myself not look, but it got to be impossible after a while.” He shakes his head, starting to boil water for the pasta. “You nearly did me in.”
I giggle.
“You know in the summer when you grill outside with your shirt off?” I say, smiling wickedly at him. “Those were my favorite days to come over.”
“And here I thought you just really liked hamburgers,” Rick teases.
We continue to chat as he chops veggies, boils the pasta, and toasts the bruschetta. The aromas beginning to build in the kitchen are absolutely delicious. I rest my chin on my hand, regarding Rick with a soft smile as he pours me a glass of wine. I can’t believe how lucky I am to be in his life in such a significant way.
Then I remember with a jolt that someone else has been in his life in an even more significant way. I obviously know that Rick is divorced. Bailey’s mom, Angela, lives out of state, and I’ve even met her a few times. She’s short and curvy, like Bailey, with the same level of sass when provoked. I can imagine that their marriage was a fiery one, and that the end was probably a dramatic mess.
“Rick,” I say, swirling my wine in its long-stemmed glass. “Will you tell me about your marriage?”
He casts a sidelong glance at me. “Where did that come from?”
I shrug, taking another sip of wine. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just curious to know about that part of your life. I hope that’s okay. Bailey’s told me a little, but not much.”
He grimaces, confirming my suspicion that the divorce was a difficult one. “Well, it was a long time ago,” he says, taking a generous sip of wine. “That’s the best part about it. Bailey was just a baby. We probably should have never gotten married in the first place because we were too different, and had too many conflicting ideas about what we wanted. But we had been together for five years, so it seemed like marriage had to happen eventually. I was cowardly then, and felt like I had to pull the trigger.”
I shake my head.
“No, you just didn’t want to disappoint anyone.”
He shoots me a wry smile.
“That’s a nice way of putting it. But yeah, there were all these expectations because Angela and I had already been dating so long, and so I did it.”
He looks a little grim as he places the plate of bruschetta on the counter in front of me, but I eagerly reach for a slice. I crunch into the toasted bread, moaning a little at the bursts of flavor from the veggies and spices. The way to a man’s heart may be through his stomach, but I suspect it may be the path to mine, as well.
“So what was the final straw?” I ask gently, after I’ve swallowed.
“We both loved Bailey with all our hearts,” he says, stirring the pasta, “but having a baby really put a strain on our relationship that was impossible to ignore. It got worse when I wanted to go back to work at the hospital, and Angie wanted to go back to work at her school, too. We fought all the time, and all the while we were trying to keep this tiny human alive together. We both could tell it wasn’t going to work, and we didn’t want Bailey to grow up in a house full of strife and tension. So we decided to get divorced.” He drains the pasta, his back to me, but I can tell his shoulders are sagging a little in defeat.