Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“No.”
He lifted his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe me.
“I’m serious. You can date who you want. I don’t care. It’s none of my business.”
Rome snorted.
“What? I’m serious,” I hissed at him, trying to keep my voice low so the other students close to us couldn’t overhear our conversation. “I have gay friends.”
A loud bark of laughter escaped him, and I realized how ridiculous I sounded. Especially considering our past.
Thankfully, the teacher came into the room at that moment and started their introduction. Instead of a long talk, Chef Eric jumped straight into the cooking since the dough would need to rest for thirty minutes after it was mixed.
If I’d pissed Rome off with my questions and comments, he pushed it aside. His attention was locked on every word the instructor uttered. I was kind of in awe of how careful he was. The dough itself was easy enough to make. It required only flour, eggs, a pinch of salt, and a touch of olive oil.
Rome giggled as he made the mound of flour and created a well in the center for the eggs and olive oil. “I’ve seen the pictures of this online, but I thought people were trying to be fancy. I didn’t think this was how it was really done.”
After he cracked the two eggs into the well, he hesitated with the fork before thrusting it at me. “You do this part. I’m scared to mess it up. You have more cooking experience than me.”
I took the fork and started mixing the eggs and flour together. “Okay, but you have to do the cutting part. I’m not good at getting straight lines.”
We worked together in near silence, creating the dough until it was a perfect, round, silky ball of beauty.
As soon as we were done, Rome lifted on his toes and glanced at the other tables. After surveying the room, he leaned close to me, whispering in my ear. “I think our dough looks the best.” His hot breath tickled the shell of my ear, and it was almost impossible to keep from shivering.
The touch of his breath and the silly pride in his voice fried my brain. It conjured up images of my ridiculous childhood friend who was competitive about everything, but he was standing in a package that I barely recognized. A strong, confident, and surprisingly interesting man. If I’d met him for the first time in Cincinnati, I think I would have liked to have been friends with this guy. Maybe get a beer and hang out on the weekend.
But things were so complicated now. It would be best if we never saw each other after we got through this dating arrangement. I’d get the donation for the museum, and he’d get…whatever the fuck he was trying to get out of it. The satisfaction of torturing me, I’d guess.
When everyone was finished with their dough and it was placed in a dishcloth-covered bowl to rest, the instructor slowed things down since the Alfredo sauce took no time at all. His assistant handed out fancy flute glasses of white wine or sparkling grape juice, depending on what you wanted, and he walked around chatting with the students about cooking and tips on making other pastas. If this worked out, I’d consider returning for his course on making cheese-filled ravioli.
“So, I take it Cincinnati does a lot of big things for Christmas,” I murmured, hoping Rome was going to let me move on from my earlier conversation fumbles. “I’ve been seeing advertisements already.”
“Oh yeah, the city goes big into the holiday season. The tree lighting in Fountain Square comes right after Thanksgiving. They also set up an ice-skating rink there. Krohn Conservatory also has a gorgeous display plus a live manger scene.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Live? As in people in a barn?”
He chuckled and lifted his glass of wine to take a sip. “Wax statues, but I think a local farm supplies sheep, a cow, and a donkey for the display. Kids love it because they get to see sheep in the middle of the city.”
Okay, that was kind of cool.
“But the big thing here is the Cincinnati Zoo Festival of Lights. You’ve been to the zoo since you moved here, right?”
I shook my head, and Rome stared at me as though I’d lost my goddamn mind.
“What?”
Rome turned his back on me. “I can’t believe it. I just…I just can’t believe it.”
I grabbed his shoulder and tried to turn him to face me. “What?”
The asshole leaned toward the students on his left. “Can you believe he hasn’t been to the zoo yet?” And of course, the couple looked at me like I’d committed some grand Cincinnati faux pas.
“Oh my God, you’re an idiot,” I groaned, pulling him toward me. But it was too late. The couple at the station in front of us had now turned after overhearing Rome’s idiocy.