He stared at her with his mouth hanging open. “You may as well have just spoken a different language.”
“I thought you said you liked to cook.”
“Cook, not bake,” he corrected.
Grace giggled. “It’s all the same. And it’s easy, really. Once we get the salad in the fridge, I’ll show you.”
They worked side by side. Grace did the chopping, he watched the pasta. Once it was cooked, he drained it, ran it under cool water to take some of the heat out, then put it in a bowl. Grace added the vegetables—or fruits—and a little dressing, once it was all mixed together, they set it in the fridge.
“How many eggs?” he asked.
“Three, but before we crack them, we better check to see if we have cream of tartar. It’s not the kind of thing your friends might have thought to stock.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, honey.” Now that he knew how much she liked it when he used terms of endearments, he’d be using them as often as he could. And she also liked pet names, he’d have to come up with one for her.
“Why not?”
“Your brothers gave a list of your favorite foods so I'm pretty sure that if they knew you liked to bake meringues then whatever ingredients you needed would have been on the list.” He went to the cupboard, searched through the pantry, quickly locating the cream of tartar. “Here you go, curly.”
She froze, her hand partially outstretched. “Curly?”
Matthew shrugged and then winked. “You said you liked pet names.”
“You couldn’t come up with one that made me sound older than six?”
From the smile curving up her lips, he knew she actually liked the nickname. “Well, you are adorable.” He paused to kiss her forehead on his way to the fridge. Then whispered in her ear, “And the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen.”
When he turned from the fridge, eggs in hand, he was pleased to see her cheeks stained with the prettiest shade of pink. She really was the most amazing woman, so many different sides to her, such strength, such beauty, she was an absolute delight, and he loved every taste he’d gotten of her. Could even imagine wanting to touch her, taste her, make her smile every day for the rest of his life.
“All right, you're the boss here, curly. Tell me what to do.”
Grace hesitated. “If you don’t want to bake, we don’t have to. I can just eat cookies tonight when you make your S’mores.”
“Sweetheart, if I haven’t already made it clear I don’t care what we do as long as we’re spending time together, then let me assure you that’s exactly how I feel. I wish it wasn’t like this, that you weren’t in danger and playing bait because that makes me sick to my stomach. But this,” he waved a hand between them, “is real. This is fun for me, and I'm going to enjoy your company.”
She offered up a shy smile. “I like being here with you too. It would be nice if we weren’t waiting for a killer to come after me. But being here with you is fun.”
“Then let’s get baking your meringues. Oh, and, curly, I saw food coloring in the pantry, so we can do colored meringues.”
“Oh, yay.” She clapped her hands in delight. “Do they have all the colors? Let’s make unicorn ones, pink, yellow, and purple I think. Those colors should go well together, and I've never tried more than two together before so I probably shouldn’t try more than three this time around.”
Matthew just stared at her, transfixed by the smile on her lips.
Such a genuine smile.
It was easy to see that it reached down to her soul and uncurled out to every part of her being.
That she could still find joy in the small things in life was inspiring, and Matthew wished that he’d been able to work through and move forward from what had happened to him as a kid as well as Grace was forging a new path. Already Grace had taught him the importance of seeking peace and focusing on the future. He was lucky to have her here, and even luckier that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
July 12th
3:31 A.M.
“Hold her down.”
Grace tried to fight the pair of hands that circled her wrists and kick at the hands trying to grab her ankles, but her body wouldn’t co-operate properly.
What was wrong with her?