Love and Leftovers Page 3

  Her stomach was a fluttering mess as the morning rolled on. In a few hours, she and Tate would be moving things to the next level.

  They shared a smile across the table.

  “I should get back to my place and get some work done,” he said.

  “I’ll see you later.”

  “Yes, you certainly will.” With a playful smile, he pushed away from the table.

  *

  Mike showed up right after dinner. Alexa left her half-eaten hotdog on the plate and rushed into his arms with an excited, “Daddy!”

  Mike scooped her up and swung her around. “We’re going to have so much fun!” He buried his face in her hair and held her for a long time, until she squirmed to get down. She slid out of his arms and he looked at Lucy. “This place is great! You guys having fun?” He smiled, but she could see through it to his pain.

  Lucy crossed her arms, like that would provide extra protection for her heart. Moments like this were always hard. “Yes, lots of fun, but she misses you.”

  “I missed her, too, and you. You’re welcome to come to the family reunion. My mom made a point of saying so.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

  Lucy pressed her lips together and looked off over the ocean. “No, you two need time together, but please tell your mom I said thank you. Alexa’s things are packed. I’ll go get them.” She went inside, where Alexa’s suitcase and the bunny blankie she still slept with sat at the bottom of the stairs.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, keeping her emotions in check. She was not going to let Mike wiggle his way back into her heart. He knew that she was dismayed over breaking up their family. It would’ve been easier if he cheated on her, or was a drunk - then her resolve wouldn’t be shaken.

  Be strong.

  She stepped onto the deck and forced a smile. “I’ll see you next Sunday, Alexa. Come here for big hugs.”

  Alexa wrapped her arms around Lucy’s neck and squeezed. “Will you tell Tate goodbye?”

  Mike cocked his head. “Who’s Tate?”

  “He’s our neighbor for the summer,” Lucy said, gesturing to his house.

  “He’s a good cook,” Alexa said.

  Mike pressed his lips together. “I see. I’m sure you’ll enjoy your time alone.”

  Alexa held Lucy’s hand and then reached for Mike’s. “Do you want to come too, Mommy?”

  The three of them were linked by Alexa in the middle, desperate to see her parents back together. But Lucy let go of her hand.

  “You’re going to have great fun with Daddy.”

  Mike picked Alexa up. “Come on, pumpkin, let’s go.”

  “Bye, Mommy.” Alexa opened and closed her little hand.

  Lucy blinked back tears and watched them climb in Mike’s truck and drive away. Her heart sank. Had she done the right thing in leaving him? Breaking up their little family? How would she ever know?

  There was no point in rehashing this all again. Desperate to push the uncertain feelings away, she stared at her toes, noting their need for a new coat of pink polish. When she looked up, Tate was watching her from his deck.

  She walked over and stood there for an uneasy moment. Tate took her in his arms, “It’s gotta be hard each time you say goodbye.”

  She pressed her head against his chest and nodded, letting a few more tears slip out. “What have I done to her?”

  Tate tipped up her chin with his forefinger. “My parents got divorced and I turned out fine. There’s an adjustment period, but she’ll get through it. Most kids do.”

  “And you don’t hate your parents?”

  He shook his head. “No. They get along much better now than when they were married.” He threaded his fingers through hers. “Let’s go inside.”

  She followed him in, feeling better. Surely things would be much easier for Alexa as time went on. For Lucy, too. She was grateful for Tate’s kindness and understanding.

  Tate tucked his arms around her, drawing her in for a kiss. His mouth was warm and soft on hers. He tasted like sugar.

  He swirled a finger along the back of her neck. “You know what I’ve been wanting to do with you all week?”

  She felt her mouth curl into a smile. “No idea,” she said innocently.

  “Cook.” His words came out in a whisper against her lips. “I’ve wanted to cook with you, feed you. Make love to you. That’s the trifecta for me.”

  She shivered and laughed softly. “I like the sound of that. Keep talking.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “How about a fresh berry compote?”

  “Compote,” she said seductively. “Say that again.”

  “Compote,” he said, in a deep, sultry voice. He kissed her once more, then plucked a strawberry from the counter and brought it to her lips. “Take a bite.”

  She sank her teeth into the juicy fruit. “Mmm.”

  He kissed the dribbles off her lips. “Wait until you taste the end result. Could you slice those while I work on the rest of dinner?”

  She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. “We’re cooking first?”

  He simply smiled at her and nodded.

  Her heart thumped in panic. “I thought that would be after … ” Was he crazy? She set her hand on his chest, running it down his torso, over his abs, toward his better sense.

  Wincing, he stepped back. “It’s going to be a night to remember and I don’t want to rush things. Not with you. That would be like making a gourmet meal in a microwave.”

  Her insides twisted. She wanted him now. A week-long wait had been tough enough. Ten minutes more would be torture. “Microwave meals aren’t all bad. That’s what I usually have. Not that I’ve had one in a while.” She moved toward him and he set his hands on her arms, keeping her at a distance.

  Learning forward, he kissed her forehead. “You deserve better than that. Trust me. We’re going to enjoy every moment of our evening alone together - every sight, sound, taste, and touch.” He moved closer and kissed her on the mouth, letting his lips hover over hers. “It’ll be worth the wait and that’s a guarantee.”

  She shivered.

  “You cold?”

  “No, hot. Very hot.” She blew out a breath.

  “It will be, I promise.” He laughed and squeezed her bottom. “I thought we could try ‘having’ lobsters for dinner again.”

  She laughed. “Okay.” Breathing deeply to settle her hormones, she rinsed a quart of fresh blueberries, letting the cold water run over her hands. She should douse herself in it. “I’m really hungry.” Yeah, for the food, too.

  “Good.” Tate dropped the lobsters in the huge pot of boiling water. While they cooked, he rolled bits of brie in crushed pistachios and sautéed them in butter. Then he drizzled a balsamic reduction over them.

  The smells were driving Lucy wild, and so were the kisses and nuzzles he gave her as he passed her on his way to grab a measuring cup or plate.

  Soon, he plucked the bright-red lobsters from the pot and set them on a platter. Then he pulled Lucy to him, kissing her again, this time with the taste of butter on his lips.

  “I appreciate the sample,” she said. “I’m not sure how much longer I can wait for the whole thing.”

  His hand slid up her hip and along the ticklish part of her ribs, then settled on one of her breasts, gently stroking it. “It won’t be long.”

  She groaned.

  “The sun will be setting soon. Let’s enjoy this on the beach. Can you grab a few blankets from the back hall closet?” he asked.

  She tucked the blankets and under her arm, and Tate handed her a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  He hooked a picnic basket in the crook of his arm, picked up the lobsters, and they headed down to the sea.

  The last dribbles of a tangerine sun melted into the ocean. They stood on the beach, waves lapping their bare toes, and watched for a few moments until it was gone, leaving behind a dusky blue sky. She turned to Tate and saw he’d been watching her instead of the sunset.

  �
�I could never get sick of watching that,” Lucy said quietly.

  “And I could never get sick of seeing you watch it.”

  They moved away from the water and spread a blanket in the sand where the dune grass ended, near the big rock Lucy loved. The remnants of a bonfire were close by, and Tate tossed a few pieces of driftwood on top of the charred remains.

  Lucy looked around. “We’ve got the whole place to ourselves.”

  The beach was deserted save a few seagulls swooping overhead to check out their meal. They landed nearby to investigate.

  Tate clapped his hands a few times and they took off, landing farther away, but still watching. “Guess we won’t be totally alone,” he said, glaring at the birds.

  Lucy shivered and tugged a blanket over her shoulders. Tate moved next to her, pulling the blanket around them both. His eyes met hers. “Ready?”

  “I have been for a while.”

  He laughed. “Me, too. We’ll start with these pistachio Brie bites.” He placed one in her mouth, slowly pulling his forefinger over her bottom lip as she let the gooey cheese spread across her tongue. She moaned a little and he gave her another, then popped one in his own mouth.

  “Exquisite,” she said, as he offered her a glass of wine.

  She took a long drink of the pale gold liquid.

  “It’s a Riesling, do you like it?”

  “I love it. All of this.” She wedged the glass into the sand, and leaned into him, nudging her nose against his.

  He kissed her, the delicious flavors mingling between their mouths. His fingers moved to her shirt, slowly unbuttoning the soft cotton top. He unfastened the clasp in front, exposing her breasts to the cool night air.

  Sucking in a breath, she leaned back, bracing her hands behind her. Tate fed her another brie bite, then ducked his head and nibbled on a hard nipple. The exquisite sensation jolting through her was intensified by the warm, salty taste on her tongue..

  He took his shirt off and tossed it aside. Fine, dark hair covered his chest, and she smoothed her hand across it. He pulled her onto his lap and their lips met again, his hands tangling in her hair. He cupped her cheek in his hand and stared at her. “You’re so beautiful.”

  A soft sigh slipped from her lips. “You make me feel beautiful.”

  He reached over and dunked a chunk of lobster into a bowl of melted butter. “Have some lobster.”

  She giggled, and he held it to her lips, drops of butter falling on her skin. She opened her mouth and he settled the lobster on her tongue.

  “Close your eyes,” he said.

  She did, relishing the sweet and buttery warmth. “Oh, my … yeah … mmmm.”

  He kissed her collarbone where a drop of butter had landed and gently licked it off her skin.

  “Oh, my.” Her eyes fluttered open.

  “Keep them closed and listen to the waves,” he told her. His breath was warm against her cheek.

  “Smell the air.” She took a deep breath of salty air, and the retreating waves gently sloshed the shore.

  He grazed a finger down her cheek. “Look at me.”

  She opened her eyes, and his gaze smoldered in the moonlight.

  “It was worth the wait,” she said, her voice husky.

  “We’re just getting started.”

  She shivered as his tongue ran up her arm, licking the drops of butter. She gave herself over to her senses as Tate fed her more lobster.

  She dipped a piece of the meat into butter and fed him. While he chewed, she slipped off her bra and shirt and tugged off her skirt. He moaned and slid out of his jeans.

  He bent and kissed her, pressing her down against the wool blanket. “Let me start a fire.”

  Raising an eyebrow she said, “You already have.”

  He gave a sexy laugh and grabbed some matches from the picnic basket. Soon the fire was blazing afresh. He lay next to her and tugged at her panties.

  “What about the compote?” she asked.

  “Everyone knows compote tastes better in the buff.”

  Their underwear discarded, Lucy lay back on the blanket while Tate ran his fingers down her belly until he found the spot she’d been longing for him to touch all week. She whimpered.

  Then he pulled his hand away. “Almost forgot about the compote.”

  “You’re naughty.”

  “I think I’ve been rather nice,” he said with a smirk. He dunked a piece of sponge cake into the compote and brought it to her lips.

  The dessert was divine, but she hesitated. “I haven’t been with anyone since the divorce,” she confessed.

  “It’s been a while for me, too.” He set aside the compote, then braced his arms on either side of her. “But I think we’re doing just fine.”

  The fire crackled and popped. She swallowed hard. Whatever happened between them, she’d always remember this night. “I never imagined I could be so patient for something I wanted so much.”

  “Then let’s not wait any longer.”

  *

  Soft light woke Tate the next morning. Lucy was still dozing in his bed, the sheets tangled between her legs. She’d only fallen asleep a few hours earlier, so she’d likely be out for a while. He’d been too keyed up to sleep, still amazed by their night together, then distracted by what this developing relationship meant for his work.

  He surveyed the fridge so he could whip up something for breakfast. He took out the ingredients for quiche, blueberry muffins, and cranberry scones. Lucy would have her choice. He loved cooking for her.

  What would it be like waking up with her every morning? Should he even be imagining such a thing? Why the hell not? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this happy. He whistled as he cooked, something he hadn’t done since his first chef job twelve years earlier.

  An hour later, Lucy wandered out of the bedroom, wrapped in a sheet.

  “You’re up sooner than I expected.”

  She yawned, her hair tousled hair like a puffy cloud around her face. “It smells too good to sleep.” She walked over to him and they kissed as the sounds of the beach drifted in through the window. The sheet fell to the ground.

  He slowly looked her over. “You should put on that black bikini.”

  She put a fist on her hip. “Hey, you don’t like me naked?”

  “I love you naked, but I’ve been imagining what it would be like to take that bikini off since I first saw you.”

  She laced her hands around his waist. “I’ll put it on later. I’m yours for a week.”

  “A week, that’s right.” He paused for a moment. Was that truly all she had for him - a week? Did he want more? Did she? “Get back in bed.”

  “Again?” She shrugged. “All right.”

  He smirked. “I’m going to serve you breakfast.”

  *

  Lucy lay on Tate’s bed, tingling with satisfaction. It was as if she could still feel all the places he’d touched and every spot he’d kissed. She couldn’t be more content.

  Tate cleared his throat. “Should we get to breakfast then? Cold quiche isn’t as good as warm quiche, but it will do.”

  She sat up, letting the sheet fall to the side. Okay, maybe I could be more content. “I forgot about the food. I’m starving.”

  “Take a taste.” He brought a forkful to her mouth and she took a bite.

  “Mmm.” A tangy, cheesy taste met her tongue. “Almost better than the sex.”

  “Hey!” He poked her in the ribs and she wriggled away.

  “I’ll admit, feeding you while you’re naked is a close second.”

  She licked her lips and he groaned. He gave her more quiche and nibbles of blueberry muffins. Now she was content.

  “How can you ever know a woman isn’t just using you for your food?” she asked, working on a scone.

  “Is that what you’re doing?” He narrowed one eye.

  “You’ve got me thinking about it.” She fell back on the bed. “If there’s such a thing as a food orgasm, I just had one.”


  He laughed. “Now there’s a possible title for my cookbook: Food Orgasm.”

  She curled onto her side and smiled up at him. “Whatever the name, it’ll turn out fabulous.”

  He didn’t smile back as he stacked the empty plates on the nightstand. “They’re good recipes, but I don’t have a theme. I need a reason for writing the cookbook, not just a collection of good food. Nothing connects these dishes.”

  “Just keep cooking. It’ll come to you.” She got out of bed and gathered her clothes. “Want to go for a swim? I’ll put on the bikini.”

  A teasing smile curled his lips. “It won’t be on for long.”

  “I’ll meet you down at the beach.”

  *

  Tate couldn’t believe how quickly the week rolled by - each indulgent day better than the one before. Lucy was spending her nights at his place. He’d wake early for a jog, then make them breakfast. They shared coffee on the pair of Adirondack chairs nestled in the dune grass overlooking the sea. Then Lucy would go down to the beach or make her driftwood creations out on his deck while he worked in the kitchen. They’d smile at each other through the window, and he’d bring her samples as he completed each dish. Later, they shared his gourmet dinners, sometimes down at the beach. And then came the nights. The glorious, passionate nights. He could spend weeks like this, maybe longer.

  But Alexa was coming back. They couldn’t continue like this with her here, and eventually he’d return to New York, and they’d go to Providence.

  On their last morning together, Tate set a bucket of shells on Lucy’s deck. “These are for you and Alexa and your projects.”

  She popped up from the chaise lounge and hugged him. “That was sweet. She’ll be excited to see you.”

  “I’m going to make her beach rolls for dinner.”

  Lucy took him by the hand. “We’ve got a few hours before she’ll be back. Let’s go inside.”

  *

  Afterward, he lay next to her, spooning with her and stroking her stomach with his thumb.

  She frowned. “You know, that little belly pooch was not there before you came up, Mr. Carson.”

  He bent over and kissed it. “I love it. I couldn’t be with a woman who didn’t eat my food. That was part of the problem with my last girlfriend. She couldn’t just relax and be real. I was sick of partying and posing. If she had a teeny tiny belly pooch, she’d run laps around Central Park until it was gone.”