Page 18 of The Arrangement (Executive Suite Secrets #3)

LIAM ROSE

“A cooking class?”

Rome’s eyes were so wide I thought they were going to roll out of his head.

“Can you cook?” I mocked.

Rome blinked, and his confidence returned in a flash. “Actually, I can cook. Some. Way better than my friends, at least, who have professional chefs on staff in their homes.”

“You don’t?” I asked, half teasing, as I slid out of my coat and handed it to the lady who was trading coats for white aprons with a bright and cheery smile.

Rome tossed me a look as he handed over his leather coat for an apron. “No, I don’t. I do most of my own cooking. However, I will admit that I have borrowed Declan’s chef a couple of times to make me a batch of meals for when I wasn’t in the mood to cook.”

A snort escaped me, and I led the way to the back of the large teaching area. There were a dozen marble-topped islands set up with small sinks and a two-burner stovetop. On the counters were bowls, mixing implements, and other cooking supplies. They hadn’t brought out the premeasured food yet.

Thinking up stupid date ideas for this arrangement with Rome was hard.

It had taken me close to a week to come up with this cooking class.

I wanted something two “friends” could do together that wouldn’t leave us with too much time to talk.

The pinball place had been perfect. The only time we’d been forced to talk was while we were eating.

I hoped the need to listen to the instructor would keep us from engaging in too much chitchat.

I glanced up at the airy, white room to find nearly all the stations were filled. There was just one other spot that had a same-sex couple, but I wasn’t sure if the two women were dating or simply friends taking the class together. Did everyone there think Rome and I were dating? Married?

Whatever. They could think what they wanted. The only thing that mattered was jumping through Rome’s ridiculous hoops so I could save my job.

“Can you cook?” Rome asked, pulling me from my wandering thoughts.

“Oh. Um. Yeah.” I shrugged and dropped onto the tall stool that sat behind the counter. “I’ve been taking classes here and there for the past few years. Most of them have been Asian food. A little French cuisine. This is the first time I’ve ever attempted pasta.”

Rome’s face lit up. “We’re making pasta tonight?”

I nodded, my heart doing this weird tremble at that expression. “We’re learning to make fettuccine Alfredo from scratch.”

“And we’re going to make it from beginning to end, right? Like we’re going to eat it when we’re done?”

It was hard to swallow my chuckle. He was like a kid who had been promised a trip to a chocolate factory and was now wondering if he was going to get to taste any of it.

“Yes, as far as I know, we’ll be able to eat what we make. Assuming we don’t fuck it up.”

Rome’s eyes narrowed on me, and he pointed a finger at the tip of my nose. “No fucking this up. I love a good fettuccine Alfredo. We need to be good at this.”

Well, at least I knew he was going to pay attention to the teacher and not screw around. His stomach was invested in getting this right.

“Lots of couples here,” Rome murmured. I glanced over to see him inspecting the other students.

“Some of them could be friends,” I suggested.

“Nah. Just us.”

“What about them—” I pointed at the two women I’d spotted earlier, but my hand fell into my lap as the shorter woman stretched up on the tips of her toes to kiss her friend.

Rome snickered.

“Is it weird for you?” I asked softly.

“Being here with you?”

I shot him a repressive look. That wasn’t what I was talking about, though it wasn’t a bad assumption. “No, I mean dating. You said earlier that you’re pan. You go out one night with a woman, and then another night, you’re out with a guy.”

“What would be weird about it? They’re people. We go out, have some fun. If there are feelings, we do it again. If not, we go our separate ways.”

My shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “Yeah, but isn’t it easier to date only women?”

“No. I’m attracted to both. Why would I shoot myself in the foot, missing out on the love of my life because of their gender? That’s silly.”

I stared at Rome. He was still smiling, not offended by my questions in the least.

His eyes widened, and his grin turned into more of a smirk. “Oh, by easier, you mean other people and their reaction to seeing me with a man rather than a woman.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I mumbled, ripping my eyes away from him to gaze at the pristine countertop. “There are always going to be people who give you problems for being with a guy. Why put yourself through that?”

“That’s easy.” And then he said nothing because he was a fucking asshole.

“What’s easy?”

“No, your turn. Are you going to judge me and act like a shit if you see me out with a man?”

“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.

“Did you move here recently?” The woman appeared to be in her early thirties, her hair cut into a cute bob, while the man beside her was younger.

“About six months ago.”

She nodded and waved her hand. “You really should go to the zoo. It’s one of the top ranked in the entire country. Plus, the Festival of Lights is the best. They’ve decorated the entire zoo in millions of little lights.”

“Plus, there’s Fiona,” the man said, as if it were obvious.