Third Life - Noelle Adams Page 0,51
isn’t proposing marriage or declaring his undying love to me here. He hasn’t done real relationships in a really long time, and I’ve never had one at all. Ever. Neither of us really knows what we’re doing here. There are still a lot of things he’s never told me, and I don’t know if he’ll tell me even now.
But he wants more. And obviously I do too.
So I’m not going to say no to this, as long as it has the potential to make me happy.
When I finally pull away from him, I’m smiling like a fool. “Do you... do you want to come up? To my place?”
He brushes some hair back from my flushed face. “Yes. I’d like that a lot.”
Seven
I LIVE IN A ONE-BEDROOM apartment on the top floor of a converted brownstone in an established residential area. It’s quiet, there’s a park down the block, and it’s close to public transportation. In other words, it doesn’t come cheap.
It’s not a very large place, but it’s more than enough space for one person. I’ve taken the time to fix it up in a pleasant, cozy manner. I keep it basically picked up, and I have a woman who comes in once a week to do the heavy cleaning, so I never mind showing it off to other people.
When I let us in, I see Richard’s gaze moving around from the small, clean kitchen to the connecting living and dining area. “I like it,” he says at last. “It looks like you.”
That’s the best kind of compliment I could get on my place, so I smile at him.
He stands in my entryway, looking way too sophisticated for my little apartment in his Italian shoes and perfectly fitted shirt. His eyes drop from my face to the floor. He shifts his weight very slightly from one foot to the other.
I suddenly wonder if he’s nervous. Or maybe just the slightest bit self-conscious.
The possibility comforts me. Gives me the insight to see the shadows under his eyes, the slight paleness of his skin. So I ask, “Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”
“I’m okay.”
“Are you sure? Because I’m a little hungry myself.”
“Really? Didn’t you just have dinner with that guy?” His mouth turns up again in another of those faint scowls.
The expression really shouldn’t make me happy, but it does. “Yes, but I just did some date nibbling.”
“Date nibbling?” He’s relaxing. His eyes are softening to their normal leisurely warmth.
“Yes. Date nibbling. I never eat much on dates. It’s not that I’m worried about the guy seeing me eat. It’s that I can’t really relax when I’m on dates, so I can’t enjoy anything. So I normally just nibble. So to tell you the truth, I’m pretty hungry right now. I can make something for us if you want.”
“I’ll eat if you’re eating.”
I nod, pleased that food preparations will give me something concrete to do. I open my refrigerator and see that I only have basics, so I pull out eggs and pancetta. “Pasta okay?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at Richard, who followed me into the kitchen and is leaning against the counter.
“Sure. Anything.”
I put pasta on to boil and then start chopping up some pancetta and browning it in a pan. Richard helps by opening a bottle of wine and chopping some parsley.
When the pasta’s cooked, I add it the pan, put in the eggs, and flip it in the pan a few times to mix it. This is one thing I know how to make without incident.
“Carbonara,” Richard says, standing at my shoulder and watching. “Yum. And I like how you handle that pan.”
I laugh softly as I plate the pasta up and sprinkle it with the parsley Richard chopped. “Bacon and egg pasta. That’s what my mom always called it. Not much that’s quicker and easier to make than this.”
“Either way, it looks great. I’m starving.”
We take our plates and glasses of white wine and go to sit at my little dining table. “I thought you said you were okay when I asked if you wanted any food. Now you say you’re starving.”
“Well, I was okay. But now I’m better than okay.”
I snort as I take my first bite. It tastes exactly as it always does—warm and rich and just a little salty. Perfectly comforting. “Didn’t you eat dinner?”
“Dinner? I haven’t eaten anything all day.”
“What? Why not?”
Richard is definitely hungry, if the way he’s eating is any proof. He occasionally makes a little moan