“You seem to be doing fine with me,” she said, trying to keep the gloat out of her voice.
“Only because you forced your way into my life like a battering ram. My options are to talk to you or go deaf from your incessant chatter.”
“Be still, my heart.”
“How hungry are you? I was thinking I could put together a quick salad.”
“I doubt anything you cook from that book is quick, but sure. A salad sounds great. Where’d you learn to cook like this, anyway? Mom? Grandma?”
Gray stood and pulled greens from the refrigerator. “No, my mom died when I was a kid, and the only grandmother in the picture was my father’s mom. Not exactly the warm, fuzzy, culinary type.”
The fact that Gray had grown up without any maternal influence didn’t surprise Sophie in the least, but it made her sad all the same. It also explained quite a bit about Jenna’s rough edges and Jack’s excess of superficial charm.
She’d also learned from Jenna that their father hadn’t exactly been the warm type either. Lack of a softer influence had resulted in one very jaded big brother. Over martinis, Jenna had let it slip that Gray had absorbed the majority of their father’s attention, but not in the way a son would hope for. The senior Grayson Wyatt had continually berated his eldest son for being quiet and wimpy. Gray had been sent away to boarding school with instructions to become more likable.
Sophie winced as she realized that her own comments about making him more approachable might add to open wounds. How must it feel to always be told that you’re not appealing enough? To be shy, but told that in order for someone to like you, you had to be more talkative?
Had anyone ever told Gray that he was sufficient just as he was? That he was successful and kind, even if he had no idea how to show it?
She doubted it.
Not that he was faultless, of course. That chronic scowl had to go, she didn’t care how introverted he was. But at the same time, she no longer was sure she wanted him to smile just because it was expected. Sophie was beginning to like the fact that Gray’s smiles had to be earned. They felt more like a reward worth reaching for instead of a superficial grin freely given.
Perhaps most startling of all was the fact that the two of them weren’t quite as different as she’d assumed. They were both struggling to reconcile being true to themselves while managing the expectations of others. He with being more approachable, and she with being more conventional. On the one hand, they wanted to be open to self-improvement. On the other, they didn’t want to compromise their own values.
“Please tell me you’re not having some sort of melodramatic womanly moment over there,” Gray said as he drizzled some oil over a bunch of exotic-looking greens.
“I totally was. You want to hear about it?” she asked.
“Absolutely not.”
She told him anyway. “I was just thinking how we have more in common that I would have guessed.”
He sighed and put a salad in front of her. “Is listening to this optional?”
“Quit being so emotionally closed-off,” she said without heat.
“And this is why I don’t read Cosmo.”
Sophie dug into her salad, pleasantly surprised that something so simple could taste gourmet. “Hey, this is really good. You should open a restaurant. And you still haven’t told me how you learned to cook like this.”
He shrugged awkwardly. “I kind of stumbled into it, really. At some point after college I realized that I wanted to be able to make something other than grilled cheese. So I went to cooking school. Le Cordon Bleu, actually.”
“Isn’t that where professional chefs go?”
“They take anyone with enough money.”
“Ah, so you bribed them. Fair enough. You pay for cooking school, you pay for sex. It all makes sense.”
He let out a low growl. “When do we get to drop the prostitute thing? I’m making dinner for you, and I think in return you should quit making cracks about that night.”
She bit into a perfectly crisp green bean and considered. “I will under one condition.”
He muttered a string of obscenities which she pretended not to hear.
“I promise never to bring it up again if you tell me what exactly about me made you think I was a hooker. I mean, I know I wasn’t exactly classy, but it was Vegas. I was hardly the only one in skimpy attire.”
He looked almost hopeful. “If I address the elevator incident, we can move on?”