Happily Ever After Collection - Melanie Moreland Page 0,14

get cut. I’ll sweep it up, and the rest will wait until things have cooled down.”

“But—”

He covered my lips with his finger. “No buts. I won’t risk you being hurt.” I gasped as he swept me into his arms and carried me upstairs to his huge bathroom. Setting me on my feet, he leaned over and turned on the tap. “You have a warm bath and calm down. I’ll sweep up the glass and organize dinner.”

“But it’s your birthday. You aren’t supposed—”

“It’s good. It’s all good. You’re with me. That is all I wanted today. Just you.”

“I wanted to do something special. Make you dinner so you knew how important you are to me.”

His lips were gentle as he kissed me. “I do, my love. Now, please, for me. Soak in the tub and come downstairs when you’re ready.”

My smile was shaky, but I nodded. He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine again. “Thank you for trying.”

“I failed big-time.”

“I don’t care. You tried.”

“Good thing Gerard talked me out of coq au vin. Imagine what damage I could have caused then—flambéing something that big.”

His eyes crinkled as he laughed, hugging me hard. “Imagine.”

Forty minutes later, I came downstairs, feeling calmer—no longer covered in tomato sauce or smelling of smoke. The kitchen looked pristine, no sign of the events from earlier. There was still a faint trace of burned something in the air, but Byron had the windows open, scented candles burning, and I knew it soon would be gone. One of his favorite Beatles recordings was playing in the background. He smiled as he held out his hand. “Feel better?”

I nodded. “You cleaned.”

He shrugged. “The kitchen is sort of my area, you know. I work fast.” He tugged me into the dining room, where dinner was waiting. My salad and sliced bread were there, but it was the two domed plates that caught my attention.

“How?” I gasped.

Byron wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me back against him. “Gerard. I called and told him what happened, and here we are.” He kissed my neck, his touch gentle as he tasted my skin with his tongue. “They arrived a couple of minutes ago. Helps to own the place, you know.”

I sighed. “This is so much better than I could have done.”

Byron laughed, a low rumble in his chest as he led me to the table, lifting the lids. “Tomorrow, we’ll work together and make your dinner the way you planned it. Tonight, we can enjoy what my chefs have sent us. Deal?”

I inhaled the marvelous aroma coming from our plates. “Deal.” Settling beside him, I lifted my glass. “Happy birthday, Byron.”

His eyes were warm as he touched the rim of his glass to mine. “Thank you, my love.”

The food was, of course, magnificent. Unpretentious, but delicious. I knew Gerard would’ve made sure to keep things simple for my benefit. Byron was sweet and praised my garden salad, even making sure I knew he had noticed the bread I picked was from his favorite bakery.

“How hard did Gerard laugh?” I asked between bites.

Byron shook his head. “Gerard is always a gentleman. He didn’t laugh.”

I pursed my lips at him, shaking my head in disbelief, and Byron smirked. “Okay, he may have tittered a little.”

My lips quirked. “Tittered?”

Byron laughed. “A guffaw or two may have happened,” he admitted. “But he was glad you weren’t hurt, and that I called him. He, ah, apparently was organized, just in case.”

I paused, my fork midway to my mouth. “He had it ready to go, didn’t he?”

Byron refused to answer me directly. “Gerard is always prepared,” he said simply. “He sent the food over right away. I told him we didn’t need dessert.” He paused. “Eat, please, my love. You might not have made it, but it’s still special because you’re with me.”

I smiled at him, fighting my watery eyes.

“And your table is beautiful. I would be proud to have it in my restaurant.” He lifted my hand and kissed the palm. “Almost as beautiful as you.”

With a wink, he started to eat again, and I lifted my fork, determined to make the best of the evening. It wasn’t what I planned, but he was right. We were still together.

My appetite wasn’t great, but I did manage to eat a little, especially when he would lean forward and press a morsel against my mouth, quietly asking me to try it. I never could resist him. I held my breath as he tasted his brûlée, almost giddy