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She’d hung around Romano’s enough for Maria to have taught her a thing or two and she was ready to show off her skills. He wasn’t the only one who could make a delicious meal.
Balancing the bags, she stepped out of the elevator, opened the door to Jake’s apartment and let herself into the spacious loft. It was a thoroughly masculine space, where soft leather and polished wood were wrapped by floor-to-ceiling glass offering views spectacular enough to make the most jaded New Yorker stop and gasp.
She knew how hard Jake had worked to get here and she admired everything he’d achieved.
Paige paused for a moment, drinking in the silver gleam of the Hudson and the twinkle o
f lights on the Brooklyn Bridge. Then she dumped the bags on the kitchen counters and started unloading. Jake’s love of technology was evident in his living space. Lights, temperature and sound system were all powered from a central control that he could program from anywhere in the world.
It was fortunate she shared his love of technology, she mused, or she wouldn’t have had a clue how to turn the lights on, let alone operate the stove and make a tomato-and-basil sauce to go with the fresh pasta she’d picked up at the market.
She slipped a bottle of champagne into the fridge to chill.
Tonight was going to be romantic. Special.
And when the moment felt right, she’d tell him how she felt.
She was chopping garlic and a heap of fresh basil when the door opened and Jake strolled in.
Sunlight gleamed off his dark hair and his eyes glinted silver gray. Even though she saw him regularly, he could still make her catch her breath.
He threw his keys down on the nearest surface, toed off his boots and she knew instantly that something was wrong.
“Bad day?”
He glanced at her, and then at the half-prepared food on the counter. “You’re cooking? I thought we were going out to eat?”
“I thought it would be nice to stay in. It’s been a long week and we’re both tired. Anyway, I owe you a meal. You cooked for me last week.” She knew better than to push him. If he wanted to tell her what was wrong, he’d tell her. She was well aware that there were parts of his past he didn’t like talking about, and she respected that. “There’s champagne chilling, too.”
“Are we celebrating something?”
“Another account for Urban Genie and a successful event today.” She added the chopped tomatoes to the pan. “Both leads came from the event I ran for you. I can’t thank you enough for letting us organize that.”
“You were the one who did the work. But if you want to thank me, I can think of a few meaningful ways.”
“How was your pool evening with Matt and Chase?”
“I lost.”
“You never lose.”
“I lost tonight.”
Was that what was wrong? “Were you distracted?”
Jake gave her a long look, and then nodded. “I had a few things on my mind. So what was the event today?”
“Thirtieth birthday party.” She checked the pan and lowered the heat. “It went well. Eva and Frankie did most of it. I just smoothed and soothed.”
And dreamed. And made decisions about her own future.
A future she seriously hoped would have Jake in it.
He opened the champagne and poured. “What form does smoothing and soothing take at a birthday party?”
“Mostly reassuring the victim that she doesn’t have wrinkles, that it isn’t all downhill from here and that her life is not over.”
“At thirty? That’s a concern?”
