Page 12

Chapter 12

Wyatt

T orrential rain beats against the window, ruining my perfect hiking date with Moxie. She told me she came to Colorado for adventure, so I was ready to get her out there to enjoy the wilderness. I planned to impress the pants off this girl, figuratively. Okay, I wouldn’t object to literally. Once again, a force in the cosmos has interfered with my ideal date in the form of shitty weather.

“Bella’s, how can I help you?” a woman’s voice interrupts the instrumental Italian hold music. I will not be defeated. I have a backup plan. Hopefully they still have an opening.

“Hi, do you still have space for two in your cooking class tonight?” I ask.

“You’re in luck. I just got a cancellation.”

Jackpot. After making the reservation, I pull my hair up. The man-bun isn’t my usual style, but if we’re going to a cooking class, the last thing I want is to get a stray hair in our food. I’m no chef, generally doing just enough mixing and seasoning to keep me from starving. Attempting culinary skills will be a challenge, but the idea of standing close to her and watching her hands work sounds enticing. If that wasn’t enough to worry about, I have to follow the take-it-slow method and pretend I'm cool with this fake dating plan when I want so much more.

On my way out, I pass Ms. Lieberman from next door with an armful of groceries.

“I can help you with those Ms. L,” I say.

“Such a good boy.” She hands over the grocery bag, and I carry them into the house and set them on the counter for her. “Got yourself a hot date?” she asks.

“Something like that,” I say, not wanting to tell her too much in case I go down in flames tonight.

“Don’t get yourself into trouble now.”

“I’ll try.” I wink. “Have a good night.”

As I pull up to the restaurant, I’m suddenly anxious. I quickly call Noah.

“Hey man, what’s up? I thought you had a date tonight.” I’ve clearly caught him in the middle of dinner. He chews in my ear.

“I’m about to go into Bella’s, but I don’t know if I can do it, man.”

“What do you mean?”

“The whole fake dating thing. Maybe you were right, I'm a feelings guy.”

“Yeah, but tonight’s just you and her.This has nothing to do with the parents, right?”

“Yes.” I put the phone on speaker and rub sweaty palms on my pant legs.

“Then, now is a good opportunity. Have fun on the date but play it cool. She’s calling it fake for now, but if you treat it like a real date, maybe she’ll eventually see it that way. You don’t want to rush it anyway, right?” Noah says.

I take a few deep breaths, and he patiently waits on the other end of the line. “You’re probably right.”

“I know I am,” he says, which gets a smile out of me.

“You’re such an ass.”

Noah coughs and his voice gets quieter. “I hate to bring up work, but let's get together tomorrow. I’ve got some concerns.”

“Concerns?” I ask. Anxiety presses on my chest and I flash back to meeting doctors and physical therapists telling me my baseball career was over before it even began.

“Forget it. Now’s not the time. Don’t keep the lady waiting. Go have fun.”

Right. As if I can forget ominous words like that.

“It sounds like this is more than the usual worries.”

Noah sighs. “I know you think I exaggerate the concerns. You always say, ‘Don’t worry. We’re paying the bills,’ but I think this time it’s a little more serious. Shit, I didn’t mean to bring this up now. Seriously, go have fun. We’ll talk next time you’re in the office.”

“Aye, aye. Don’t stress, I’ll come in tomorrow and you can show me. I’ve got to go. I don’t want to be late.”

I walk into Bella’s Ristorante and see Moxie bathed in the orange glow of the stained-glass lamps, chatting with the hostess. My eyes lock on every contour and curve of her body in a black and white dress, straight down her toned legs to a pair of ruby red heels.

I finally notice she’s watching me check her out. I move closer, trying to calm my nerves. “I never would have suggested hiking if I knew about this dress. You have a lot of faith in me not to spill something on it,” I joke.

“I told you, I’m a risk taker. Don’t totally ditch the hiking idea because that sounds fun too.” Moxie turns away from the hostess and squeezes my hand. Warmth radiates from where our palms meet, sending an electric current all through me.

“Sorry about the last-minute change in plans. I know this wasn’t what you were expecting.” I’m confident the class will be fun. It’s only been a few times, but I don’t think I'm capable of not enjoying myself when I'm around her. Still, I'm a little self-conscious about the fact that she probably wouldn’t classify cooking at a restaurant as an adventure.

“How dare you not control the weather,” she teases, and when she smiles, I swear the restaurant warms up about ten degrees.

I throw my hands out as if casting a spell. “I tried, but I'm a little rusty, so this will have to do.”

“Really, it’s not a big deal. Are you a good cook?”

“I can grill burgers and scramble some eggs. I wouldn’t say good, but I’m ready to learn something new. What about you?”

“Oh, I can cook, sauté, and sizzle, but I like learning new techniques and recipes.” Her intense gaze, the deep brown of a mountain path after a cool rain, sends a shock wave that pulls down my jaw. I might not survive this class without stepping into the commercial freezer to cool down.

She entwines her arm in mine. It’s the second time she’s casually touched me already, and it’s messing with my head. She wants to keep feelings out of it and just have fun, but these touches tug at my emotions. If she keeps this up, taking it slow is going to be off the table and her ass will be on it.

A chipper woman in an official looking chef’s outfit walks up to us, along with two other couples who must also be there for the class.

“Hello, I’m Michelle, and I’ll be your lead chef this evening. I hope you’re ready to have fun and make some delicious food. If you follow me, we can move to the back room where we have stations set up for you. Grab an apron on your way.” She points to a coat tree with white aprons with Bella’s in red script across the front.

I grab one off the tree and hand it to Moxie. “I’d be happy to tie those strings for you.”

“Why, thank you. Such a perfect gentleman.” She turns around and my fingers brush against her back as I admire the silky skin of her neck.

They’ve got optional chefs’ hats as well. Moxie and I both put on the towering white hats, and I pull out my phone to take a selfie of us. When we lean together for the picture, the tips of the hats bump together, and hers falls to the ground. She snorts with laughter, then tries to clap her hand over her mouth to cover it. My right hand fumbles to grab my hat, and the left tenses up on the photo button, resulting in a burst of shots.

“I have to see those pictures!” She laughs and puts the hat back on the rack.

Her shoulder presses against mine as I scroll through the shots. They start with a cute and goofy pose and devolve into chaos. Her eyes and smile are bright with her laughter. It might be my favorite set of photos I've ever taken.

“Will you send me those?” she asks.

“Depends. You’re not going to go selling this handsome face, are you?”

“Not sure I'm desperate enough for the pennies that’d bring in.” She sticks her tongue out at me.

“Ouch.” I clutch my chest.

“Personal use only,” she sighs.

My eyes widen.

“Oh, not like that!” Her eyebrows shoot up, but then her face morphs into a wicked smirk. “Well, maybe a little like that.”

There’s a mental image that will be hard to shake: her legs spread, her fingers between them, her eyes on my photo. I can’t deal with the mixed signals coming from this woman. Chef Michelle returns and guides us toward the kitchen. The restaurant has high open ceilings and old-world charm. I follow Moxie over to our station as her red heels click on the dark wood floor of a room that feels like a television set for a cooking competition.

While the front of the restaurant is crowded, the back is open with five long, white, counter-height tables with lots of room to move around them. Three are set out with mixing bowls, pans, and rolling pins. Next to the equipment is a tray with pre-measured seasoning, flour, cheese, spinach, and other spices.

She hands each of us a recipe. “It’s nice to meet all of you. The idea of the class is to have fun, hopefully become comfortable with cooking techniques, and enjoy a delicious meal that you’ve made yourself. So, wash up while I get some of our ingredients from the refrigerator and we’ll get started.” She disappears into the walk-in cooler.

I splash Moxie with water as I wash my hands, and she gives me a gentle shove. “You’re going to give me flashbacks of my plunge.”

“Too soon?” I ask.

“Way too soon.” Her expression falls flat and stoic, but then she cups the water in her hands and completely douses me.

It’s the kind of banter I saw in my parents’ kitchen all the time growing up. Don’t overthink it, just have fun. The nervous atoms bouncing around inside of me quiet, leaving me in the kind of relaxed state I chase after a good adrenaline rush on the mountain. It’s not something I expected for our date-that’s-not-a-date. I’m pretty laid back when I go out, but inside I'm analyzing every action and word, waiting for a spark to ignite. Even when the match doesn’t strike, I convince myself there is something there. Tonight, there’s small flames bursting to life all over the place, and I’m trying to ignore their existence because that’s what she wants to do.

Moxie looks up from familiarizing herself with the utensils and gives me a once-over.

“I’m a little annoyed at how well you pull off this ridiculous hat.” She looks me up and down as if she’s a fashion blogger.

“Oh?” I strut between the counters and spin.

“Yeah, and dammit you rock that apron,” she admits.

“It’s a gift. Looking good in a variety of outfits is one of the skills that has gotten me through life.” I demonstrate a few magazine-worthy poses before Michelle clears her throat to begin the class.

“Tonight, we’re making spinach and ricotta ravioli,” Michelle explains. “I’ve divided your recipe into sections. We’ll start with making the dough, then we’ll make the filling, and then we’ll cook the ravioli. Let’s get started with putting your flour into the mixing bowl and adding seasoning and the egg.”

Moxie and I banter about who cracks the eggs more cleanly, and she only gloats a little when I have to fish out some shell.

“Next we’re going to knead the dough,” Michelle calls out to the class.

We both reach for the dough at the same time.

“Trying to hold my hand?” She turns to me and I’m suddenly conscious of how close our lips are. The air stills as I linger, bent close to her.

“Not yet. After you.” I take a step back.

A knowing smile slinks across her face when she catches me staring at her hands as she works the dough. My neck burns, and I tug at my collar. Go slow. This isn’t a real date.

The time it takes to accomplish each step allows us to talk in between listening to instructions. As we work, we chat about the weather, our town, and our families. For a while, we focus on cooking and get things done without bumping into each other.

At first it seems like there's a magnetic field around her that pulls me into her orbit as we try to negotiate the small cooking area, but eventually we ease into a rhythm working side by side as we move on to mixing the pre-steamed spinach, ricotta, lemon zest, salt, and nutmeg.

Michelle comes by and assesses our progress. “Everything is looking good, but let’s try to roll that dough thinner.”

Moxie takes over when I press too hard, tearing the dough.

“Be honest, what’d you think when I suggested a cooking class?” I ask.

She tilts her head in thought for a moment, then grins her wicked grin. “You were ordering everyone around on the river, so I thought it would be fun to see if you can take it as well as dish it out. How does the captain do in the passenger seat?”

“I think you’ll find that I don’t care which seat I’m in, as long as I’m along for the ride.” I’m having so much fun that any concerns have left my brain like my four years of high school Spanish.

Moxie rolls the dough as if she’s done it for years. Soon there are four strips of perfectly even, super-thin dough.

“Moxie, that looks great,” Michelle comments as she evaluates our work.

“Why do I get the feeling I've been hustled?” I ask.

“I told you I can cook! It’s only fair after my plunge in the water that we do something I’m better at than you. I’m sure you’ll balance it out next time when the weather is more cooperative and we can get outside.”

Next time. It’s at least gone well enough that she wants to continue this, even if it’s only for the sake of the pact.

“Okay cooks, let’s focus now. It’s time to put the ravioli in the boiling water, so I want to make sure the wine glasses are set down and everyone is working together.” Everyone dramatically moves their wine glasses away from the cooktop.

“They should take about five minutes to cook, at which point you should remove them to the pan with butter and sauce. If you want, you can put them into the oven for ten minutes to get crispy.”

We concentrate on cooking while the ravioli boil. I put them on the pan and am again distracted as I watch Moxie bend down to put them in the oven.

“Tell me about your business. You’re one of the owners, right?” Moxie asks and grabs her wine glass.

“You remember Noah? He and I started Shred and Tread a couple of years ago. It’s great working with him and doing the things we love every day. He sometimes helps with transport like you saw, but most of the time he handles the books and everything in the office, while I handle the actual tours.” I love the business, and if I'm not careful, I'll go on talking about it for hours and bore her to tears. I force myself to keep it short.

“Wow, that works for you? It must take a lot of trust.” She frowns and chews on her lip.

“I guess, but it’s Noah.” I shrug and search for the right words to explain the simple fact that he’s my guy. I trust him. It feels as natural as breathing fresh mountain air. “If anyone should be worried, it would be him. I’m more of a loose cannon, but if I’m screwing up, he usually tells me.” Thinking about this reminds me that Noah said he needed to talk to me about something. I feel a twinge of guilt that we haven’t had that conversation yet, and that I haven’t checked in with him for a while.

The timer goes off, so I put on the oven mitts as Moxie opens the door to the chimes of the other two groups’ timers going off.

“Those look good.” Moxie eyes the ravioli, dusting her hands off on her apron and getting the plates. “You okay?”

“Yeah, why?” I snap out of my worrying, resolving to talk to Noah tomorrow.

“You’ve got a look on your face like I dealt you sixteen against a ten at the blackjack table.” Moxie’s brow furrows.

“Sorry. There’s something at work I need to take care of.” One solid look at her deep brown eyes and she reels me back in.

“I’m sure it’s a big commitment.” Moxie visibly quivers, as if a spider was crawling on the back of her neck.

“It was scary at first, borrowing so much money. Noah got married right after we opened, so a lot was going on, but we work well together and I never had a doubt we’d be a great team.” I guess I’ve never said this out loud before, but it’s true. I’ve never doubted Noah. I need to make sure he feels the same way about me.

Moxie gives me a curious look, “I admire people who are willing to take risks, but I don’t know if I could trust anyone with my money and my job. I mean if they screw up, I’m the one who will have to pay.”

She turns back to the pan and starts plating the ravioli.

Suddenly the room feels darker. Her tone implies a story there, but it doesn’t feel right to pry.

“I guess it has to be the right person. I trust Noah with my life. But enough about me, tell me what it’s like working at the casino.”

She shrugs a bit dismissively. “It’s a job.” She turns to scope out the other groups’ ravioli.

I loosen up as we enjoy a little wine and chat with the other couples while Michelle brings in a salad and garlic bread to round out our meal. Moxie cracks us up as she reenacts an early waitressing fiasco that got her fired from her first job.

A hint of golden-brown color forms on the ravioli in its short time in the oven. The dough is plump with filling, and our sauce is chunky and brilliant red. It looks delicious and smells even better due more to Moxie’s efforts than mine. She hands me a plate as Michelle goes from table to table complimenting everyone’s meals.

“I’m not trying this alone. If I go down from poisoning, you’re coming with me,” I tease.

“I think as the true adventurer between us, you should go first.” Moxie’s lips mesmerize me, and I find myself leaning closer. She lowers the glass and tilts her head a tiny bit, exposing her neck.

Without conscious thought, my feet inch forward. Heat radiates from her. “I swear you told me you were always up for adventure.” I bring my mouth mere inches from her bright red lips.This is the opposite of taking it slow. This is not how a fake date should feel. I have to break this somehow before I'm head-over-heels for her while she still sees me as just fun.

As she leans in for a kiss, I move a fork full of ravioli to her mouth. I give her my most mischievous smile and she laughs around her mouthful.

“Mmmm, this is so good,” she purrs, making me wish I went for the kiss. She steals the plate away from me.

“You’re still standing, so I guess it’s safe for me to try.” My fingertips brush her waist as I reach for the plate.

“Oh no, I don’t think I want to share. You were too chicken, so I think I’m going to enjoy all this myself.” Moxie takes another bite and pulls the plate behind her back.

“Don’t tease me like that.” I lean into her. I couldn’t give a shit about the ravioli.

“You want a taste of this?” She does a slow spin and when she’s facing me again, she has a ravioli on her fork and eases it to my mouth. An explosion of rich flavors hits my tongue, velvety and sweet. I stare at her smoky eyes, and she slowly smiles.

“Well, do you like it?” Her voice drops to a husky timbre.

“Oh yeah, I really like it.” It’s enough that I’m calculating the sturdiness of the table and struggling to remember that we’re in a very public place. I clear my throat and step back to regain my composure.

Michelle interrupts our moment. “What does everyone think? Is this something you could recreate on your own at home?”

Everyone agrees it’s a winning recipe. Moxie and I rejoin the class and behave for the rest of dinner. All the while, I’m cautiously amazed at how comfortable this feels. With my new resolve to take things slow and not force feelings where they don’t exist, there’s an underlying itch to review the mental game footage, making sure that what I'm feeling is real. Stronger than that is the desire to be in the moment with her and not worry at all. Maybe that’s my answer.

I help slip her sweater over her shoulders before we walk out to the parking lot.

“This was a lot of fun, even though I must bow to your superior chef skills. I’m not in your league.” I lean in to give her a chaste hug before we part. Surely fake daters can hug.

When she leans closer, the light of the moon catches her skin, bathing her in a magical glow. I should back up, but it feels like her hand is glued to my chest. If I step away, I’m sure my heart will stop.

“You know, if we’re going to really sell this to your parents, we should be prepared,” she whispers.

“How so?” If she’s going where I think she’s going, I’m in trouble. Because I don’t have it in me to say no to something I desperately want.

“We’ll have to be at ease with each other. At some point we might have to kiss in front of them, and they’ll probably be able to tell if it looks awkward.”

I swallow against the lump in my throat. All I can do is nod.

“Good. I’m going to kiss you now,” she says, and the remains of my resolve are whisked away in the current. I want this. “That alright?” she asks.

“Hell yes.”

Her confidence is both intimidating and sexy as hell.

“Good.” She closes the narrow gap between us and presses her soft lips onto mine. She tastes sweet, like the wine we had with our dinner. It’s like there’s a string connecting my mouth and my chest, and it tugs insistently with each movement. Her tongue glides over my lip, then she teases me with a gentle bite, and my head goes fuzzy. My hands find the curve of her hips and I pull her close.

I lose myself in her until she pulls back the tiniest bit, gently caressing my chest.

“Wow. Yeah. I think they’ll believe that,” she says. It snaps me back to reality in an instant, with the reminder this is all for show, even though I can feel myself falling for her more with every passing minute.

“Totally believable,” I manage to say, when I really want to clutch at my chest and try to hold my heart together.

“You know, just because we’re keeping feelings out of this doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun. Do you want to come back to my place?”

The fire in her eyes leaves zero doubt as to what type of fun she’s referring to. I’m dizzy with desire for her, fighting against the fog to remember why this would be bad. I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy. Sex would not be just sex for me.

It takes all my will power to pull back. Take it slow so you know it’s real, and so she can grow to want more. I take in a deep breath.

“I should head home. I have an early-morning hike.” I grimace as I say it because I want to punch myself in the face for turning her down.

Moxie jerks back so suddenly I almost fall over. Her lips purse and her muscles tense. “Maybe some other time.” She heads to her car as if it might leave without her.

“I’ll text you,” I call out. My head spins. Damn. Of course I want to go back to her place and have her for dessert. I growl as I run my hand across my forehead. It feels like we were connecting, but I can’t be confident in that with my dating history. Now I know what it feels like to be dropped in the ice-cold river.