Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(49)
Distracted by business, I began to feel better. The water at the Pineview Motel didn’t get very hot, of course, and I had to keep most of my weight on one leg, but I managed. In my cosmetics case, I’d discovered tiny travel bottles of my shampoo and conditioner, so I even managed to wash my hair.
After I got out, I dried off, wrapped the towel around me, and combed through my wet hair. Since there was no blow dryer, I’d have to let it air dry. I hung up the towel on a hook, and pulled on my clean underwear, socks, and the XL sweatshirt. It was huge, even bigger than Gianni’s sweater from last night, so I didn’t feel too self-conscious coming out of the bathroom in it.
When I opened the door, I was greeted with an aroma that made my mouth water—tomatoes and garlic and herbs and fresh bread. But how was that even possible?
“What are you making?” I asked, limping up behind Gianni. A pot of pasta was boiling on one burner, and he was stirring sauce on the other. On the counter was olive oil, a few dried herbs and spices, the bottle of white wine, and something wrapped in foil. “Why does it smell so good?”
“Rose gave me a loaf of bread she baked today and I sliced it open, brushed it with melted butter and garlic powder, and warmed it up on the stove. It’s wrapped up there.” He nodded toward the counter. “And this is going to be our spaghetti pomodoro.”
“Wow. I’m impressed.”
“Good.” He tasted the sauce and added a little more salt. “Rose also offered me a frozen bag of spinach—she said her husband won’t touch the stuff—and as soon as the sauce is done, I’ll use the pan to sauté it with some white wine.”
“Speaking of wine.” I poured us each another glass, hoping the buzz would deaden the feelings building for him inside me. “What else can I do?”
“Nothing. I told you, I’ve got this.” He glanced at me and smiled. “You look cute. How’s the ankle?”
“Thanks. It’s okay.” Hating the way my heart beat a little faster at the compliment, I took my wine over to the bed and sat down. “I think I might try to get ahold of Winnie.”
“I just talked to my dad.” Gianni drained the spaghetti in the sink.
“You did? Is he at Abelard?” Leaning back against the headboard, I extended my legs in front of me.
“Yes. All good. Apparently, he’s got Winnie’s sister in the kitchen, and he likes her so much he’s about ready to offer her a job at Trattoria Lupo. Says she’s quick on her feet and a fast learner.”
I smiled. “That’s Felicity. She’s crazy smart. She just moved back from Chicago to start her own catering company.”
“Oh yeah? Now which sister is she?” He returned the pasta to the pot. “Aren’t there like twenty MacAllister girls running around?”
“No, but there are five,” I said, laughing. “Millie is the oldest—she’s the event planner at Cloverleigh Farms. Then Felicity—she went to culinary school, and she worked in restaurants for a while but for the last few years she’s been a food scientist.”
“Really? Like test kitchen stuff?”
“Yes,” I said, enjoying the view of Gianni moving capably and confidently at the stove. He still wore his jeans and white shirt from last night. It was a wrinkled mess, but the sleeves were rolled up, exposing his solid forearms, and he looked so good, perfectly at ease in the small kitchenette as he made dinner for us without one word of complaint about the lack of gourmet ingredients or luxury appliances. I recalled undressing him last night, and what his body had looked like beneath his clothes. The wind continued to whistle at the windows and the snow still fell, but inside me a warm, comforting feeling spread from the center of my belly to the tips of my fingers and toes. Realizing I’d stopped speaking, I refocused on what I was saying. “And then after their dad married Frannie Sawyer, they had twin girls, Audrey and Emmeline. They’re in high school now.”
“Jesus.” Gianni shook his head. “That’s a lot of girls in one house. I feel bad for their dad. No way could I handle that.”
“I take it you don’t want kids?”
He added the sauce to the pasta and stirred it. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it in any real way. I’m not ready to grow up myself yet, you know? How the fuck would I manage raising a kid?”
I laughed. “I can’t imagine.”
“Babies make me nervous.”
I set my wineglass on the table next to the bed. “Babies make you nervous?”
“Yes! They’re so tiny and breakable, and they need so many things. You constantly have to feed them or change them or carry them around. And they’re always there. You have zero freedom once you have kids.” He picked up his wineglass and turned to face me. “My cousin Sam said after his wife had a baby, they pretty much never left the house again. And it’s not like they stayed in and had sex all the time—he said they never even did it anymore because they were always too tired or the baby interrupted them.”
“Yes, well, babies don’t really get the concept of waiting until it’s convenient to need things.”
“Exactly.” Gianni took a drink. “Plus, having a kid with someone is like a major commitment. You basically have to be willing to spend the rest of your life with that one person.”