When You're Ready (Ready #1)(49)

“Logan, your house is stunning. It’s definitely not what I would have expected when I first met you,” I admitted.

And now?” he questioned, opening the fridge to grab a bottle of wine. He was dressed casually tonight, jeans, a black t-shirt that showed off his tight stomach and arms, no shoes. It was sexy.

“I can see it. It suits you.” And it did. I could see his trademark style everywhere. From the acoustic guitars that lined the living room to the global artwork and photography of places he’d visited that decorated the walls. He had created a home, and he probably didn’t even realize it. He didn’t spend much time here, but somehow he had created a space for a family. It’s like he was waiting for it to be filled, hoping the empty space in his heart will one day be filled as well.

“You’re cooking for me?” I asked as he moved to the stove and began stirring something in a pot.

“I did ask you over for dinner. Did you think we were ordering pizza?”

When my answer came in the form of a wry smile, he laughed, tossing a kitchen towel in my direction.

“You did think I was going to order a pizza! I’ll have you know that I can cook, woman!” Grabbing the kitchen towel he tossed on the floor, I walked to the stove to take a peek in the pot.

“Marinara? You’re making spaghetti?” I guessed.

“Ah, no. I'm making pizza,” he answered quietly

“You’re making pizza?” I said, doing everything I could to keep from laughing.

“I said I could cook. I didn’t say what!”

“All right,” I relented, heading over to the sink to wash my hands, “what can I do to help, Emeril?”

Shaking his head, he pointed to the cutting board filled with mushrooms and various other toppings, “Start slicing the toppings. God, you’re a pain in my ass!” he laughed.

We settled into a comfortable rhythm, while I sliced and he rolled out the dough. He spoke about his last shift at the hospital and the busy evening he had. I discussed how Maddie decided she needed to go to the beach. I had been looking up favorite destinations all week.

“We should go together,” he suggested.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he affirmed, “but not just any beach. We should take her someplace great. Pick someplace and we’ll go. Anywhere.”

“Okay,” I answered, a little out of breath. Had we just planned our first trip? Butterflies fluttered in my belly, and I tried and tame them by changing the subject, even though all I wanted to do was jump up and down screaming “He’s Mine! All Mine!” To absolutely no one. Maybe I’d save that one for a more public place. On second thought. Maybe I should keep that little cheer to myself.

“What are you smiling about?” he asked as I realized he was staring at me.

“Huh? Oh. Um. You.”

His sly grin shifted into a high beam smile, and wow. He was stunning when he smiled like that. I mean, he was always gorgeous, but when he smiled like he did right now, he was downright panty melting hot.

“Good,” he stated.

Once the pizzas were out of the oven we skipped the dining room table and instead opted for the floor in front of the fireplace in the living room. Logan gathered pillows, a few blankets and a tray, and we took our plates and wine and settled comfortably into our makeshift picnic.

“You really like picnics, don’t you?” I asked him.

“I really like picnics with you,” he corrected, before adding playfully, “They always go really well for me.” He took a bite of his pizza, and I did the same. I nearly moaned as the flavors hit my palette.

“Oh yum. This is good, Logan.”

“See, I told you I could cook,” he defended himself.

“I’m never ordering pizza again. I’m just calling you from now on,” I said, diving into my second piece.

“So that’s all I’m good for now? Pizza?” he mocked.

“Oh no, you have many, many uses.” Wow, look at me. Seductress extraordinaire.

After I finished off everything on my plate, I had the need for something sweet. “So, you made pizza for dinner. What are you making me for dessert?”

“Dessert? Oh crap. I forgot!” he exclaimed.

“You damn well better be joking, Logan Matthews,” I warned, folding my arms across my chest and pouting.

“Do you really think I would risk certain loss of limb and not have dessert for you? I’m many things, but stupid is not one of them. I’ll be right back,” he announced, jumping up, tray in hand, headed for the kitchen.

Moments later, he returned, with the tray again, but this time it was filled with ice cream, candy, fudge and whipped cream. I clapped my hands together like a five year old child.

“Ice cream sundaes!”

“It’s the best I could do. You don’t want anything I baked,” he confessed, as he rested the tray back down on the floor.

“It’s great! Absolutely perfect!”

I started to build my masterpiece, loading it up with goodies. He even bought coffee ice cream. He never missed a thing. Logan dug into the vanilla and we made our sundaes in a comfortable silence.

“Why didn’t you ever go back to teaching?” Logan asked as he added the finishing touches to his sundae.

“I honestly don’t know,” I admitted “I guess I had always planned on going back, but just never got around to it. When Ethan first got sick, the school was very supportive. If I needed a day off to be with him during chemo, they gave it to me without question. But then he got worse, and the days turned into weeks until I eventually had to take a leave of absence. I told them I’d return when he got better, but he never did.”