Page 19 of The Arrangement (Executive Suite Secrets #3)

“Fiona?” The name alone sent a chill down my spine. I doubted he was talking about my ex-wife.

“Fiona, the baby hippo,” he continued.

“Well, she’s not a baby anymore,” the woman corrected. “But she was born a preemie. No one thought she was going to survive, but she beat the odds. She’s got so much spunk. She’s the city’s cutest princess, and now she has a baby brother named Fritz.”

Holy shit, this whole city is devoted to hippos.

Rome wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in close. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he learns all about Fiona and the zoo.”

The couple smiled and nodded before turning to their station again.

In the lowest voice I could manage, I leaned into Rome and asked, “Is it all that great?”

He had to understand. Originally, he’d been an outsider like me.

“Yeah, it is,” he whispered.

Okay. Apparently, I needed to check out this zoo.

“Don’t worry about it. I still don’t get their obsession with chili. It’s not my thing.”

“No, no,” I interrupted, pulling out of his hold. His hand was burning through my shirt, and I couldn’t breathe. “I like the chili. Especially the coneys with the giant mound of cheddar cheese. That makes sense. I didn’t know about the zoo and the hippo.”

“You’ll learn.” Rome paused and took another drink of his wine. “Next week is Thanksgiving. You headed back to see your folks?”

I shrugged. “Probably.”

Actually, no. I had no intention of heading home to see my family.

Being away from my family had given me a surprising sense of freedom, like being able to relax for the first time since returning home after college.

I wanted to spend a quiet Thanksgiving alone.

Possibly make a tiny Thanksgiving dinner for me. That was it.

But I couldn’t admit that to Rome and put up with his snickering at me.

Or worse, a pity invitation to whatever his holiday plans were.

No, this white lie was much safer.

“What about you? Going to Rhode Island to see your parents?”

“Not this year. My parents are going to be in Denmark.” He paused, his brow furrowing. “Or the Netherlands? Norway?”

“Those are three very different countries, Rome.”

“No shit,” he scoffed. “But I don’t remember.

They’re going out of the country at the end of November through all of December.

My mom wants to travel, and Dad is in the mood to check out the Christmas markets in a bunch of European countries.

I think the plan is to catch up on New Year’s Eve.

For Thanksgiving, I’m going to wrangle some friends together for dinner.

I think Declan is cooking up some kind of big Christmas extravaganza for his fiancé and their daughter.

It’s going to be Joy’s first Christmas, and I think Declan is worried Parker is going to be sad about missing his friend, who also happens to be Joy’s mother. ”

There was a hell of a lot to unpack in that.

Before I could wade into that mess, the instructor rounded us up to roll out the dough.

The impending holidays were forgotten as we bickered about the correct thinness of the dough.

Once it was perfect, we argued over cutting the noodles the proper width.

As Rome was slicing the dough for noodles, I got the water in the small pot boiling and heated the other pan to melt the butter used in the Alfredo sauce.

We fell into an easy rhythm, our bickering turning to teasing as he tossed in the noodles to cook while I stirred the butter, garlic, heavy cream, and parmesan together to make a nice cream sauce.

The scent of the cheese and garlic bubbled together to make my stomach growl. This smelled so good, and Rome was bouncing on the balls of his feet next to me, dying to dig his fork in for a taste.

“How much longer?” Rome whined.

“Soon. The noodles need another minute. You get the colander ready and grab the plates.”

Rome softly squealed and snagged the two blue plates that had been set aside for us and added the colander in the sink.

After one last test of the firmness of the fettucine, I had him pour the noodles into the sieve while I stirred the sauce.

As soon as he had a proper nest of pasta in the center of each plate, I poured a portion of the rich, creamy white sauce on the fettucine.

It smelled like heaven. As good as anything I’d eaten in a restaurant.

I glanced up as I placed the sauce on the burner to find that the other couples were all settling into their plates of food. The instructor’s assistant was refreshing everyone’s drink while the instructor gave each station a basket of warm bread.

“Are you ready, cooking partner?” Rome inquired as he grabbed his fork.

I nodded, too excited to even try to speak.

Over the years, I’d taken two dozen cooking classes.

Fiona had joined me for a few, but she didn’t enjoy cooking.

The rest I’d done on my own, and I’d loved them, but I had to admit that this was the first time I would claim that I’d actually had fun.

Rome had turned it into an adventure, and now I was both excited and nervous to taste what we’d made together.

After twirling some fettucine on my fork, I hesitated, watching as Rome shoved some into his mouth.

“So?” I asked.

Rome moaned loudly, his eyes rolling back into his head.

A laugh almost choked me at his antics. I shoveled my bite and hummed as the delicious combination of cream, garlic, and parmesan hit my tongue. And the fettucine. God, there was something about fresh noodles that made my toes curl. So much better than the dry stuff.

“Wow, we are such good cooks,” Rome said around another mouthful of pasta.

“The best.”

“The only thing this is missing is some shrimp.”

I grabbed some bread and dipped it into the sauce. “I was thinking grilled chicken.”

Rome grunted and nodded, barely breathing between bites.

“Um…so…this chef. He also teaches a class in making homemade cheese ravioli.” I kept my eyes firmly on my plate. “In case you were interested in learning how to make that.” After a heartbeat, I glanced up to find him watching me, a forkful of pasta hanging in the air in front of his mouth.

“Are you planning to take the class?”

“Maybe. Kind of depends on my schedule.”

Rome made a noise and filled his mouth again. I turned my attention to my half-eaten pasta.

“Well…I think it sounds cool,” Rome ventured. “I’m a big fan of cheese ravioli.”

I nodded. “I like the cheese and mushroom. Though I could figure out adding the mushroom on my own. The hard part is learning the technique for ravioli.”

“True. True.” Rome licked some sauce off his bottom lip. “If you think you’re going to do it and want a cooking partner, shoot me a message. It’s probably better if you’re not trying to do ravioli by yourself. Two sets of hands and all.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Sounds good.”

My heart fluttered, and I stuffed a large hunk of bread into my mouth to stop my awkward talking.

But…had I just made a date with my enemy?

It didn’t sound like this was part of the arrangement. While we’d never discussed it, there was a tacit agreement that each date would be different. A second cooking class wouldn’t count.

Was this hanging out?

And why was I suddenly looking forward to it so much?