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As she was leaving for the day, Sara pushed through the double doors into the blindingly bright resort kitchen. Just after lunch with Hope, she had made a special request. Gerold Harrigan stood with his back to her, his white chef’s coat clean and crisp against his ebony skin. Sara rested her hands on a stainless-steel island. “Do you have something for me, Gerold?”
He spun around, grinning as he wiped his hands on a towel. “I was just packin’ it up. Really knocked myself out this time, if I do say so myself. I’m gonna put this on the menu.”
She moved next to him and gave his arm a squeeze before picking up the paper bag. “I’m sure we’ll both love it. Thanks.”
“I put the wine in a cooler bag. I chose a German Riesling. The dish is so rich you need somethin’ dry to complement it.”
“You’re the best, Gerold.”
“Yeah, everybody tells me that. Get outta here.” He winked at her, then moved to his stock pot.
As soon as Sara got in her car, she pulled her phone out and thought about what to say. Finally, she typed.
Sara: I have a statement and a question for you:
1. I’m sorry.
2. Will you come over for dinner tonight?
She waited for several minutes, but Jack didn’t answer. With anxiety gnawing a hole in her stomach, Sara left the parking lot and pulled onto the highway. She was nearly halfway home when her text tone went off, and she quickly pulled over to the side of the road. Her hands shook slightly as she picked up her phone.
Jack:
1. Thanks
2. Yes
As she was reading, another text came in.
Jack: Anything I can bring?
Sara: All I want is you.
Jack: You’re going to serenade me with U2 songs?
She laughed and texted back.
Sara: You wish. I have an amazing singing voice.
Jack: That’s not the only thing that’s amazing. What time?
Sara: Six
Jack: See you then.
When she got home, Sara changed into one of her favorite dresses, a shimmering blue tie-dyed sundress with spaghetti straps that showed more cleavage than it hid. Wanting to make an impression, she had re-curled her hair and applied make-up. At 5:45, she put the container into the oven, just like Gerold had said.
Promptly at six, her doorbell rang. When she opened the door, Jack stood on her doormat, wearing gray pants and a light-yellow plaid button-down shirt. It only accented his big, brown eyes even more. The same brown eyes that were fixated on her breasts. He slowly moved them down to her feet and back up, then his breath exploded in a rush. “Wow. You look terrific.”
“Thank you. You look great, sweetie.” She gestured with her arm, and he entered. Sweeping past him, she pulled the bottle of wine out of the refrigerator and poured two glasses.
Jack inhaled deeply. “It smells great in here. What’s for dinner?”
“Macaroni and cheese.”
He laughed and took a sip of wine. “Stick with the crowd pleaser. Can’t go wrong there.”
“Oh, but I have an ace in the hole—this one isn’t mine. Tonight, we’re having Gerold’s lobster mac and cheese. He said he’s putting it on the menu.”
