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“I know you prefer contemporary, like me, and we can get an interior designer to add to it.”
I touched my warm face. “Wow. I’m just trying to take it all in.” There was a billiards room, exercise room, another indoor pool, a library stocked with books, a fireplace, and a half-moon custom seat below a window with a view. I could already imagine lying there and dreaming. “This is my favorite room.”
We went down to the well-stocked wine cellar. Paul chose two bottles, and we returned upstairs to the dining room, where I found the largest mirror I’d ever seen. He left the bottles on a shelf, and we went up a curving staircase to the bedrooms. One had a skylight above. A nursery. My hand brushed my stomach, which I’d been doing since we agreed to try. Paul hugged me from behind and kissed my neck, his hand splayed on my stomach. “I’m thinking of children, too.” My throat closed, and I couldn’t speak.
There were numerous empty rooms for a studio and an office with a modern computer and monitors on a large oak desk.
He saved the kitchen for last—a modern chef’s kitchen. Paul opened the huge double refrigerator, and I saw it was fully stocked.
“Now I’m anxious to cook for you.” Meat, tomatoes, cabbage?The items in the refrigerator looked like my parent’s refrigerator back home. My lips parted. “Did Mom and Dad give you a list?”
Paul’s smile was impish. “Yes. They told me what you need to cook.”
I hugged his neck. “You’re so romantic.”
“Getting ingredients is romantic?” he mused and held me.
“It is. Serving food is serving love. Dad won Mom over with food.”
“Hmm. My dad told me Mom won him over because she gave great head.”
I swiped his arm. “Jonas? No way. You’re lying.”
“Am I? Ask my mom.”
“No way am I ever going to ask her that!”
“She and Alan practice tantric sex. Alan will brag at some point about how many hours he can go without coming.”
I covered my ears. “No more. I don’t want to know because I’ll have to see them sometimes, and you know I can’t hide what I’m thinking.”
His gaze went soft on me. “That’s also something I love about you.”
My heart skipped a beat. “I love everything about you.” And I did. It wasn’t just that he was extravagant. He was generous to a fault. But it was how he chose the houses we’d looked at so far. Although, one cannot really call them “houses.” He’d looked for places that suited both of our artistic and emotional needs. He’d ensured that each place had the potential to grow and become ours with our different and eclectic styles. I knew he’d bring my parents over for a visit to any of the places. And each place so far had blissful privacy from the pressures and stresses of life…and a place for our future family. I was in awe of the man’s thoughtfulness and care.
I went back to the refrigerator and took out the ingredients and placed them on the counter. “I’ll make us dinner.”
“Can I do something?” he asked as he ate a small tomato.
“You can play something on the piano?” I cocked a brow.
“Oh, so it’s like that, Ms. Sokol? The kitchen is your domain?”
“My dad has the same rules; he wants no distractions. It won’t take long, and I’ll come back and see you while it’s cooking.”
He kissed me. “All right.”
I went upstairs to change in the large bedroom that had decorative crown molding on the ceilings and more chandeliers and sconces. It had a balcony with a stone and iron railing and more views of the water and mountains. A part of me just wanted to relax there, but I changed into a striped scoop neck shirt and linen pants that were in the closet, then returned to the kitchen. Searching the cabinets and drawers, I took out a few mixing bowls, and took out the meat, vegetables, and eggs, and started cutting them to make flaki stew—something Paul had shared he wanted me to make for him. In a drawer, I found some cookie sheets. But what caught my eye was the crescent moon cookie cutter. Dad’s moon cookies. I found a rack of spices and nuts, as well as the other ingredients I would need—courtesy of Mom, of course. Almonds. I’ll make almond crescent cookies. I mixed up the dough and thought about the years with my parents and how loving they’d been. I never asked if I had Polish ancestry, but I believe I was Polish. That was how they raised me, and I was proud of it.
I seasoned the meat, chopped vegetables, and took out more bowls, utensils, and pans. Then I started making Paul’s flaki stew. Once they were all on, I left to find Paul. He was on a lounge chair in the living room, fast asleep. I tucked a blanket over him and removed his shoes.
My eyes filled with tears, and my throat closed. I want to take care of him every day. I want a long life with him.I said it as a prayer, a wish of the heart. It wasn’t because of what he’d done; it was him. His kindness, compassion, and care. There was no one else for me.
I set the table in the dining room and checked on the food. My mouth watered as I smelled the aroma, and I tasted each dish and was sure it was perfect.
Then I went to the lounge where Paul was sleeping and crawled behind him. He immediately turned and pulled me on top of him, and I fell asleep in the comfort of his arms.
Sometime later, the sound of music coming from a stereo roused me from my sleep. Paul was no longer there. I stretched and went to check on the food in the kitchen. Not burnt. Good.
