Tricia shrugs. “We missed out on our meal there. I felt like I owed you.”
Taking her hand in mine, I lead her into the house. “We’ll have plenty of opportunities to eat there,” I say, giving her small hand a gentle squeeze. “And other places.”
I place the bag on the gray granite counter and get two plates out of the white cabinet.
“I thought you didn’t cook?” she says, her brows raised as she looks around.
Glancing around the large kitchen, while washing my hands in the deep farmhouse-style sink, I can see why she might be confused. It’s fully updated, has an impressive gas range, and tons of gleaming appliances grace the counters. “I don’t. Most of these barely get used anymore.”
“Oh.” Tricia’s teeth work at her lower lip, her eyes darting around before coming to rest on me as I plate up the baked manicotti she brought. “Is this the house you shared with your wife?”
“No,” I say gently, holding out the takeout bag of garlic bread. “I bought this after the divorce. Far too big for a single man, I know, but it was my parents’, and I loved it. My ex laughed when she found out I bought it.”
“Are you two still close?” she asks hesitantly, while following my lead and carrying her plate into the dining room where I already have a pitcher of water and glasses waiting.
Placing my plate down, I hold Tricia’s chair out for her before sitting down in the seat across the table from her. “Hardly. We’re both orthodontists, though, so we see each other at conferences and such. She lives across town in a townhouse she bought when we separated.”
I’m thankful for the small table, as the distance between us isn’t great, and I can reach for Tricia’s hand. I find I love touching her and holding her in any way I can. “I’m completely over my ex. It’s been four years since we separated; you don’t have to worry that I’m still carrying a torch or will go back to her.”
Instead of looking relieved, Tricia frowns. “I need to be honest with you,” she says, picking at her piece of garlic bread. “My last relationship wasn’t that long ago. We broke up in August.”
A bit of worry trickles along my spine.
“But there is zero chance I’d ever take him back.” She pauses, staring past me for a moment before releasing a huff of laughter. “Long story there, but trust me, we were completely wrong for each other, and I have no desire to revisit that relationship. So don’t think you’re a rebound for me or anything,” she says.
“Good. I’ll admit, I’m a rather possessive man and I don’t share well.”
“Neither do I.” Tricia beams and picks up her fork. “I hope you’re hungry, because I’m starved.”
During the meal, we talk about our work and Tricia tells me more about her siblings and I can’t help feeling a slight pang. I have a younger sister, but she’s out in California, so we don’t see each other that often and my parents moved to North Carolina several years ago. It sounds like Tricia and her siblings are all close, which is wonderful and the type of family connection I’ve always craved.
After piling the dishes into the sink, we finish the evening with some apple cider on the patio with a cheery fire in the stone fire pit.
“What’s that over there?” Tricia asks, her eyes narrowed in a squint while she points.
Taking in the large wooden screened-in enclosure, heat burns its way up my neck. “Oh, um… a catio.”
Tricia licks her lips and leans forward. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I heard you right. Did you say catio?”
Clearing my throat, I set my mug of cider down and extend a hand. “Would you like to see it?”
Her laugh sends warmth of another kind shooting through me. Getting up, she takes my hand, and we walk over to the catio.
“Is it like a chicken coop?” she asks, releasing my hand to walk around the multi-level wooden structure.
I rub at the back of my neck. “It’s a fancy outdoor cat house.”
She turns to me, a large smile filling her face. “You have cats?”
“I do. Three of them.”
“Here? I didn’t see them during dinner,” she says, planting her hands on her hips like I’ve hidden them from her.
“They were probably up in their room.”
She comes even closer, her eyes full of laughter. “They have a summer house,” she says, gesturing to the catio, “and their own bedroom. Someone is a good cat daddy.”
Before I can say anything else, Tricia’s hand is on my arm and she’s urging me toward the house. “Come on, I want to meet them.”