“I’ll help you pick them up,” he said, bending down at the same time she did.
Their foreheads cracked together, and Amelia put a hand to her head, cursing at the flash of pain. “Balls! That hurt. What in the fecking world did I do to deserve this comedy of errors? Somewhere, someone is laughing their arse off at the mishaps their curse is causing.”
Cheeks on fire, she kept her eyes on the flowers, waiting on Seth to lambast her for such a crummy evening, or even to just give up and walk out. Instead, he began chuckling, and before long, his rich laughter was echoing through the room.
Removing her hand from her head, she watched with an open mouth as he laughed long and hard, his head thrown back, white, even teeth gleaming. He had an arm wrapped around his waist, and his shoulders shook with the force of his amusement. Despite everything, her lips curled up as well, and she couldn’t help laughing softly along with him.
His laughter finally winding down, he said, “This has been the most amazing start to a date I’ve ever had in my life. And I mean amazing in the best possible sense. It’s definitely not one I’ll ever forget, and Amelia, honey, I gotta tell you, the sound of those curse words in that English accent is sexy as hell.”
Shaking her head, she smiled with a roll of her eyes. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this. I thought for a minute you’d for sure be walking out after that. I promise, no more bodily harm tonight. How’s your head?”
“Perfectly fine,” he assured her. “Now, I’m going to pick these flowers up by myself so you can put them in some water.”
She nodded, smiling as he bent down to pick them up, incredibly grateful that he had such a great sense of humor. She watched as he gently picked each flower up, and the care he used on the delicate blooms made her heart melt a little more. He handed them to her, and she brought them to her nose one more time before she turned for the kitchen, gesturing for him to follow.
“It smells amazing in here,” he said as he walked in.
“Thank you,” she replied as she checked the timer on the oven. Still fifteen minutes left. “It’s lasagna, my favorite, and a recipe I’ve made a thousand times. I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will,” he said, leaning a hip against the counter, watching as she tried to find a vase.
She tried all the cabinets and came up empty before shrugging and taking down a mason jar. It had been a long shot that her uncle would have a vase, but the jar would do. After she filled it with lukewarm water, she put the flowers in, arranging them just so, and sat them on the table, standing back to admire them. Actually, the mason jar was kind of perfect for the wildflowers, and she was glad she hadn’t found a vase.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asked Seth. “I bought some beer, if you’d like some.”
“You did? Yeah, I’ll take one. Are you going to give it another go?” he asked with a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Haha. No, I’ll pass. I have some wine breathing over there,” she replied with a gesture to the counter as she went to the fridge and pulled out a beer.
“Will wine get you drunk too fast, like you were last night?” he asked with a smile as he accepted t
he cold bottle, watching as she poured herself a glass of wine.
“You got jokes tonight, don’t you?” she said with a wry smile and a laugh. “No, I can have two glasses without getting drunk. I think the alcohol content in that drink last night must have been sky high. Want to go sit in the living room?”
“Sure,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, leaving her unsure whether he was agreeing to go to the living room, or answering her comment about the drink sarcastically.
Lips quirking, she led him to the living room and took a seat on the large sofa, sipping the red wine before putting it on the coffee table and curling up in the corner. He took a seat on the opposite end, and turned to face her.
“You said the lasagna is a recipe you’ve made a lot, but you don’t look very old. And I imagine with your job, you don’t have a lot of spare time.”
“I don’t, not really. I’m twenty-five. And I’ve only been working in a lab in a real career for about a year, but I was in school for years before that, going to university. First undergraduate school, and then getting my PhD.”
An intense expression passed quickly in his eyes, gone before she could truly analyze what it was. He hesitated, taking a long pull of his beer before saying, “You have a PhD? And you’re only twenty-five? You must be a genius.”
“No, not quite genius level, but I did finish what you call high school pretty young, and got my undergraduate degree in less than three years. But really, it was more due to hard work, and enjoying what I was studying, than being truly smart that got me my degrees early.” Uncomfortable with the subject, she shrugged. “Anyway, the lasagna was my mother’s recipe. I’ve been making it since I was old enough to cook.”
“Was?” he asked softly, his chocolate brown eyes gentle.
She gave a single nod. “She passed away when I was very little. I was only two. I guess making the lasagna makes me feel close to her in a way. It’s really the only time when I do. I don’t remember her at all.”
“I’m so sorry, Amelia.”
She shrugged. “They say you can’t miss what you never knew, but I do. Maybe it would have been different if I had other reminders of her, or even pictures, but I don’t. My father was devastated after she passed. He accepted a position at Oxford about six months after, and got rid of all her things before he packed us up and moved us to England. He wanted no reminders of her anywhere around. I found the recipe for the lasagna shoved in an old cookbook in a box in the attic when I was twelve. I’m sure he didn’t know it was there, or he never would have left it for me to find.”
“Why didn’t he leave anything for you? Surely he could have put some things, some pictures, away for you without having them close as a reminder. He had to know you’d be curious someday and want to know who your mother was.”
“Maybe he thought I wouldn’t get curious, or want those things, since I never knew her. Most likely, it was probably more like he wasn’t thinking of me at all when he threw it all away. I’m not sure what he was like before losing my mother, but the father I grew up with was cold, distant, and rarely around. The nanny mostly raised me. He threw himself into work after her death, but I heard him muttering once about how much I look like her, so I’m sure that had something to do with how rarely I saw him.”