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I reach behind my back and try to untie the strings, only to discover they’ve knotted up somehow. “Just a sec,” I tell him, leaning to my left as if that’ll work.
“You need some help?”
“No, I’m good. I’ve got it,” I say through gritted teeth while I attempt to twist the apron. It is not going to budge. Dammit.
“Allie, let me help,” Hudson tells me, his voice a little more forceful this time.
I grunt a little, then let my shoulders drop. “Fine.”
I spin on my heel and stand with my back to him, my temperature rising three degrees Fahrenheit as I feel his fingers brushing against my lower back.
“Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?”
“I prefer the word independent.”
“I’ve met independent. You’ve crossed the line to full-on stubborn.”
“Hey,” I answer, attempting to turn around so I can argue with him, but he stops me with his hands on my waist.
“Stay still.”
God, that felt good. It’s been way, way too long.
Holding my breath, I take in every second while he fiddles with the knot, his big, strong hands only inches from the top of my bottom. My mind wanders right back to him carrying me out of my office, and it occurs to me that here he is, saving me again, when he is under no obligation to do so.
“There, got it,” he says, and far before I’m ready, his hands are gone.
I turn back to him and lift the apron off my neck and place it around his, and there’s that cologne again. Wow. I watch as he wraps the strings around his narrow waist and ties it in front. Grinning at the sight of him in my mom’s flowery old apron, I say, “Do you want me to take some pics for your Insta account?”
He grins. “Is this a good look for me?”
“Totally.” And the crazy part is, it actually is.
“Now, go get to work,” he says, pointing up the stairs with his thumb.
“It’s not too late. You can still sneak out.”
“Never.” He gives me a wink and walks back into the kitchen.
As I’m heading up the stairs, I hear my dad’s voice. “So, Hudson. That blonde with the huge knockers. What’s she like in real life?”
Oh, sweet Jesus. This is going to be a total disaster.
A totally wonderful, incredible, heart-fluttering disaster…
17
Confusing Food Analogies
Hudson
This. This is what’s missing from life in Malibu. A big, noisy family cooking together and having fun. Allie’s right—they are nuts, they argue about everything, but they also love each other fiercely. You can just feel it. I know I’m not a part of it, and yet somehow they’re making me feel like I belong.
Well, everyone except Allie’s dad, Enzo, who’s acting like I’m some sort of predator, here to corrupt his youngest daughter. The truth is, I’d corrupt the hell out of her if she wanted me to. Gladly, and with fervor, over and over again. The rest of the family, however, seems to take me at my word that I’m here to help. Which I am. But also…
Allie’s grandma taught me how to use the pasta maker, and together we’ve made enough fettuccine to feed the neighborhood. The entire dining room table is covered with noodles that will sit there for a few hours to dry before supper. Her nonno made good on his offer of a sandwich. In fact, he made them for the entire family, and wow, are they tasty—spicy mortadella, melted provolone cheese, tomato, and mayo on a sourdough roll. He starts by making piles of the meat and cheese, then fries them up to brown the meat and melt the cheese. Then he adds them to the roll, cuts them in half, then fries the whole thing. My nutritionist would be horrified because there must be a thousand calories in each one, but honestly, it’s worth every second I’m going to have to spend in the gym.
We’ve just finished cleaning up from lunch when Enzo announces it’s time for him to make the sauce. “Everybody clear out except Mr. Finch, who’s going to help me.”
