Dirty Little Secrets (Dirty Little #1)(33)

“Mmm-hmm. I mean business.”

“Here I thought you were trying to turn me on.”

Caleb laughs as he walks to the other side of the kitchen. “There is no trying as far as that’s concerned.” He winks before he disappears into the pantry, the smug bastard.

When Caleb comes out, he puts the items that he’s carrying down onto the countertop, one by one. He looks at me, gauging my reaction to the weirdest group of ingredients I’ve ever seen in my life.

“You’re using bread, hazelnut spread, apples, and…what is that? Cheddar? Is that all…going together?”

“This is freshly baked bread, I’ll have you know.”

“Baked by whom?” Surely Caleb did not bake this bread himself.

“By a lovely woman who mans the oven at one of the best bakeries on the Upper West Side. I bought the cheddar this afternoon from the cheesemonger, and the hazelnut spread came from a gourmet shop down the street.”

“Ooooh,” I say, trying to sound impressed and not as grossed out as I feel looking at the ingredients for what is sure to be an interesting dinner. “What about the apples?”

Caleb shrugs. “I have no idea where those came from.”

“And you’re going to let them taint this gourmet concoction that you’re gonna cook up?” It’s a last-ditch effort at goading him into not making whatever it is that he’s about to make. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to an orchard in Connecticut? Pick some fresh, organic apples?”

A slow smile blooms on his lips, and for a second I think I might be successful here, but then he pulls out a cutting board and knife. “Nope, these will do just fine.”

Okay, so, there’s no getting out of this. I’m looking forward to watching Caleb make whatever it is he’s about to make, I’m not so sure about eating it.

“Do you have an apron, or are you just going to risk getting that nice shirt dirty.”

“I’ll have you know that I do have an apron,” he says, teasing. “Well, I did have one. Felicity gave it to me as a joke.”


“What was the joke?”

“That I don’t know how to cook. The apron caught on fire when I leaned over a burner once.”

I stifle my laugh with the back of my hand. “Yeah, that’s generally not a good idea.”

“Unfortunately I found that out the hard way.”

“You know, telling me you’re a bad cook isn’t doing much to inspire confidence in this particular meal. Especially not with the ingredient list.”

“I may not be a good cook, but this? This is my specialty,” he says, opening the loaf of bread. He pulls a bread knife out of a drawer and begins slicing it. “And you’re gonna love it.”

“How, exactly, did a terrible cook like you get a specialty?” I ask, sliding his glass of wine across the island, so it sits in front of him.

He puts four slides of bread to the side, and finds a smaller knife in the drawer beside him. He cuts a few small slices into one of the apples, and says, “My mom used to make it for me. It was the only thing she knew how to cook herself.” There’s a wistful smile on his face, and it makes my heart ache. Even if Felicity hadn’t let the information about his parents slip earlier, I would’ve known there was a painful story behind this dinner. “Our cook taught me when I was a teenager. I don’t make it very often, but…” he shrugs, and I know that’s as far as the story is going to go tonight.

I could very easily look up information about Caleb’s family on the internet. Once I found out his last name, I discovered some cursory things, but I didn’t go digging very far. I figure he was at a distinct disadvantage between the two of us. Since Caleb is rich and has put together some fairly lucrative business deals, it isn’t hard to get the scoop on his past and his life. I’m not so easy to find on the internet, so I figured I’d level the playing filed by not looking up anything about him. Whatever I know about him is going to come from him (or, after this afternoon, his friends). No cheating.

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” I tell him. And I’m not even placating him this time. “So, what exactly is this sandwich?”

He spreads butter on the bread he’s sliced. “It’s hazelnut spread, cheddar, and sliced apples. Kind of like an exotic grilled cheese.”

The thought of it isn’t exactly appealing, but I’m gonna give it a try.

“My mom’s specialty was club crackers and fake cheese,” I tell him with a smile. “I’ll save you from that one.”

Caleb arches his brow. “Fake cheese?”

“Yeah,” I tell him, sliding my finger along the edge of the stem of my wine glass. “Processed cheese? Fake? The kind that’s really orange and delicious?”

“I’m not familiar with it.”

“Oh, well…Maybe I won’t save you from that one after all. It’s not a dinner, more like a snack.”

“I’d love to try it,” he says, grinning at me.

“You might wish you hadn’t felt that way after you do,” I reply, laughing.

Caleb turns and opens a few cabinet doors, looking for a pan, maybe. I find it funny that the man has no idea how to cook, yet spent who knows how much money on remodeling this place with top-of-the-line appliances, and the nicest cabinets and countertops I’ve ever seen in person. I know there’s a certain mindset that makes you want the best when you can afford it, but it amuses me that he doesn’t even know where his pans are. Pans that I’m sure are top-of-the-line, too.