Fight From The Heart (Heart Collection #4) - L.B. Dunbar Page 0,34
wasn’t ever one of those, but I don’t mention it to Pam. “Fine. You cook. I’ll pour more drinks.” As soon as I offer, I realize I really don’t want another drink. I actually don’t need it either. I’m in good company tonight.
“You drink too much,” she states sheepishly.
“You’re probably right,” I say, lowering my voice.
“It’s not my place to judge, but I worry about you.”
I pause, lifting my head. I want to tell her she doesn’t need to be concerned about me, but something in her voice stops the retort on my tongue. How nice would it feel to have someone worried about me?
“You know I value your opinion, Lilac. I want you to be honest with me in everything, not just my writing.” She has been bold over the years, telling me how to handle Ella, suggesting I hire Ethan, and stepping up in all the spaces in-between. “And I didn’t drink and drive the other night,” I remind her.
She doesn’t respond but cracks open the jar of sauce for a separate pot. She flits around my kitchen, knowing her way around it, and acting as if she belongs here. Suddenly, I have a vision of her here, doing what she’s doing on a nightly basis.
“Hey,” I say, reaching out for her hip and stopping her movements for bowls and silverware while the pasta and sauce cook. She stills, looking up at me in the dark kitchen. “I’m glad you’re here.”
The quiet that follows my admission leaves a lump in my throat. I’m ready to retract what I’ve said when she slowly smiles at me.
“Me too,” she whispers.
“I’m sorry that guy didn’t marry you, but I’m also relieved he didn’t. You wouldn’t be standing here with me if you had.” I brush back a loose hair against her cheek. I want to kiss her just as badly as I had the night outside her apartment. I lean forward, and her eyes watch my lips. I’m so close, ready to take what I’ve been missing out on for the last two years, when we hear a hiss.
The water is boiling and overflowing the pot. Pam breaks free of my hold and quickly turns to settle the water. Our moment is lost to a boiling pot, and I understand how that pot feels. I’m ready to explode myself. I want this woman. I want her to know how beautiful she is. I want her to know how worthy she is. I want her to know how important she is to me, and I want to show her because my words are not enough.
“I don’t suppose you have real flashlights or candles perhaps,” she asks.
“Candles? Sure, somewhere.” Candles would scream romance, but suddenly, I want to give those things to her, if only for the night. Then again, it’s dark. How else will we see?
“If I leave you alone, can you finish this?”
Pam smirks at me over her shoulder. She’s doing all the work anyway, and my phone battery won’t last if I use it as a flashlight all night. I’m so unprepared for emergencies—another reason to be grateful for Pam’s presence.
“I’ll be back.” I make my own quick work, setting up candles I found in the credenza near the dining table. Most of them look used, and I’m wondering when I burned them. I don’t remember lighting candles, especially the large number that seem to have a spent wick. Not giving it another thought, I light several of the larger ones, bringing them closer to the fireplace. There’s a noticable temperature difference between the living room and any other space in the house, so I rush upstairs for an extra sweater for Pam and my comforter.
When I return downstairs, I find Pam standing before the fireplace, holding two bowls of pasta.
“Wow, this is beautiful,” she says, her voice soft and impressed with the candle display.
Yes, she really is beautiful, especially with the firelight glowing on her skin.“Here.” I hold out the sweater for her. “It’s getting colder.”
“Thank you,” she says, setting the bowls on the hearth before reaching for the sweater. I watch her tug it over her head. Her short hair springs free, and she fluffs it up a bit from the static. Her eyes slowly lift to mine, and she holds out her arms, emphasizing the bigger size. “Fashionable, right?”
“Beautiful,” I admit. If she blushes at the compliment, I can’t tell from the fire glow on her cheeks.
“Let’s eat.” Her voice returns quiet. She takes her seat on