Sworn Enemies - Rebel Hart Page 0,64
lost love of his, but in the meantime, he was treating the people he happened across pretty poorly. “Out of curiosity, what happens if you never see this guy again, the one you’re acting like this for? What if he’s, like, married with two kids in Omaha or something?”
Daniel didn’t respond right away. I waited for a response, but when he spoke again, it was totally unrelated. “All right, your brisket is warming in the oven. Asparagus are in there with it. Halved baby potatoes are on top, covered in foil, and yes, I brought a bottle of wine because I’m a good person.”
I sighed, knowing full well that I wouldn’t get any answers, so I dropped it. “Thank you, Daniel. How can I repay you? Seriously. You’ve done a lot for me, and I don’t think I’d be with this girl if you hadn’t helped out. I’d say I’ll cook for you next time, but you and I both know you don’t want food poisoning.”
“I’ll think of something,” Daniel replied. “For now, just enjoy your night.”
“Thanks. Love you.”
“Love you, too. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Fortunately, when I pulled up to my complex about thirty minutes later, Quinn’s brother’s car was nowhere to be found. I pulled into the garage, parked my car, and took the elevator up to my floor. My house smelled amazing, and I hopped to work, setting out plates for the food and glasses for the wine. When I opened the fridge to grab the bottle, I noticed a plate of cream puffs covered in plastic sitting on the top shelf. They were my favorite dessert. It was a shame that Daniel didn’t take any of the relationships he fiddled with seriously. He was one of the most caring and thoughtful people I knew. Whoever did snap him out of his commitment to a memory was going to be a lucky person.
I grabbed my phone, sent Daniel another, “Thank you, seriously,” text, then went back to work to get the food plated and wine poured. Everything was ready to go just in time. My phone buzzed with Quinn letting me know she was outside. I grabbed my phone and ran downstairs to greet her. Her look was simple, understated even, in a pair of jeans and a zip-up hoodie with a t-shirt underneath. It was her typical work attire, but she had the ability to make anything look good.
“Hey.” I damn near skipped down the path getting to her.
“Hi.” She met me with a kiss, and my hands were already snaking around her back and pulling her close. She pushed me back a little bit. “At least take me inside first.”
“I guess.” I took her backpack off of her back and slung it over my own and then grabbed her hand and led her up the path back into my apartment.
When I opened the door, Quinn took one step inside and gasped. “Um, oh my god. It smells heavenly in here.”
I set her backpack down on the couch in the living room and pulled her into the dining room. The plates were perfectly stacked with the food Daniel had cooked, and the white wine glinted in the flicker of the candles I’d lit.
“Braised brisket, grilled asparagus, halved baby potatoes, and white wine,” I said as I pointed at each of the items as I listed them. I presented the plate of cream puffs. “And for dessert, homemade cream puffs.”
Quinn shook her head. “Stop it. Am I dead or something? There’s no way you’re this good looking, amazing in bed, love football, and can cook.”
“I would love to take credit for this, I really, really, would, but my brother Daniel did it. He’s a chef.” I pulled out Quinn’s chair, and she sunk down into it as I pushed it back up to the table. I took my seat perpendicular to her. “He came here this afternoon and cooked.”
Quinn smirked. “Were you that confident that I was going to ask to come over?”
“I was going to ask. You just beat me to it,” I winked. “Although I know that you can’t resist”—I did an awkward dance—“this.”
Quinn giggled. “You are so weird.”
“You love it, though,” I replied.
Quinn shrugged. “I do.”
We each took a few silent minutes to dig into our meals. The brisket was savory and perfectly seasoned, the asparagus was crisp with a light char, and the potatoes had a slight spice to them. It was amazing.
“Please tell me your brother cooks professionally,” she said.
“He does,” I responded, taking a break