I grinned and threw open the door.
He looked sexy as hell in a nice pair of slacks and a button-up dark gray shirt. He hadn't shaved since this morning, so he had just the right amount of stubble to accentuate his strong jaw. I couldn't wait to kiss him and feel it against my skin.
"Hi," I greeted him.
He grinned. "Hi."
I held open the door and he stepped inside, taking off his hat. He waited until I closed the door before sweeping me into his arms and kissing me like he hadn't seen me in weeks rather than just a day.
I wasn't about to complain, especially since I kissed him back the same way.
"You look beautiful," he said once he released me from his kiss. He didn't release me from his embrace, which I was happy about.
"Thanks," I replied. I put my hand to his cheek, feeling the scratch of his in-coming beard on my fingers. "You don't look so bad yourself."
He kissed me again, and I lost track of time. It was easy to do when a handsome man kissed like heaven and felt even better. I could have died of starvation and never complained if it meant I got to kiss him the entire time.
"You keep that up and we'll never finish dinner," he said, breathless as he pulled back. Apparently, I was as good a kisser as he was.
"Maybe it's all part of my evil new diet plan. No eating. Just kissing. And other things."
He chuckled and kissed my cheek. "Liar," he teased.
I grinned, both of us releasing the other at the same time. He went to my small kitchen and looked over my ingredients.
"You did great," he said, picking up my box of panko bread crumbs. He set them down and looked at the chicken breasts I had found. "These are perfect."
Pride filled my center. I was glad I had pleased him. It felt good to have him praise me.
"What are we making, by the way?" I asked, sidling up to him in the kitchen.
He grinned and began to carefully take things out of his canvas tote. A bottle of white wine, fresh green beans, some sort of reddish potato looking thing, and some seasonings. He carefully set the bag to the side, even though there was something still left inside of it.
I secretly hoped it was dessert. I wasn't going to peek until he said to, though. I liked surprises.
"We are making Panko Crusted Chicken Piccata with green beans and roasted beets." He started opening cabinets. "Where's your cutting board?"
"It's under the lemons," I pointed to the counter. "It's brand new."
"You didn't have a cutting board?" he asked, turning to look at me. "Please tell me that you at least have a cutting knife and some cooking sheets."
"Like cookie sheets?" I asked. I went to the storage space under my oven and pulled out two very well loved cookie sheets. "The knives are by the sink."
He stepped to the side and pulled out my cheap plastic handled carving knife. He tested the sharpness and looked surprised. "Have you ever even used this? It's actually much sharper than I expected."
I shrugged. "I have to use something to open the cookie dough rolls." He just shook his head.
"Wash your hands and we'll get started.".
The next hour was spent cutting and seasoning, cooking and laughing. I liked that my kitchen was small enough that we kept running into one another. It gave me an excuse to touch him as often as I wanted.
We sliced up the beets and roasted them, making the entire apartment smell sweet and rustic as we worked on the chicken. He showed me how to tenderize the chicken and then dredge it for pan frying. He taught me how to prep the beans and how to make a sauce. It was fun to watch the recipe slowly come together from random ingredients to something that resembled a meal.
With every step, he took the time to explain what we were doing. He let me do most of the work so that I could truly feel like I learned how to do this. It was the mark of a good teacher.
When the oven beeped that the beets were finished, the chicken was cooked through, the sauce complete, and the beans tender, I felt like I had done it all on my own. It was empowering and fun.
Plus, my house smelled absolutely amazing. I knew it could smell good when I brought takeout home, but this was even better. It smelled good because I had cooked something nutritious and delicious.
"There is one downside to this cooking method," I told Henry as he checked the chicken to make sure it was cooked through.
He frowned slightly, his brows coming together at a point. "What?"
"We'll have to use plates," I replied with a grin. He laughed and slid my perfectly cooked, crisp chicken onto a clean white plate. I set the table and helped bring the chicken with sauce, the green beans, and the bowl full of roasted beets to the table.
I lit a candle and placed it in the center. For the first time since moving here, my table looked like something out of a magazine.
"Hold on, I need to take a picture," I told him, pulling out my burner phone and snapping a quick picture. "There needs to be proof in the world that I cooked a meal that wasn't out of a box."
Henry chuckled and waited until I finished before taking his seat.
Carefully, we both put the steaming food on our plates and Henry poured us each a glass of wine.
"To you," he said, holding up his glass. I grinned.
"To us," I replied, tapping my glass against his and making him smile.
Then I picked up my fork and took a bite of the meal I had prepared.
To my amazement, it was actually good. Better than good, even. Delicious.
"Just sign me up for chef school now," I told Henry, taking a bigger bite this time. "I'm practically Gordon Ramsay."
Henry laughed. "What about me?"
"You were an excellent teacher," I told him. "I'll recommend you to everyone. You can continue to be my sow chef."
"Sow chef?" Henry's eyes bugged out a little and he choked on his food. "You mean sous chef."
"Sous chef?" That sounded more like what they were always saying on those cooking shows. "It's sous?"
"Yes, it's French." Henry coughed and pounded on his chest. His face turned red with laughter. "A sow is a female pig."
"You definitely aren't one of those," I conceded with a grin.
"I think I need more wine," Henry replied. He stood up and went to his bag in the kitchen. I tried to focus on my food, but I watched him open the bag. He reached inside and paused before moving his hand and pulling out something else. He brought out a second bottle of wine, which he opened and brought to the table.
We had used most of the first bottle for the lemon wine sauce on the chicken, so I didn't feel like too much of a lush. Yet another perk of cooking my own food: more wine.
He filled up both our glasses before taking a long sip of his.
I watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. He wiped at his mouth with a napkin, reminding me that some people did have manners. He used his fork and knife like I imagined people would when dining with the queen of England.
I was just glad my father had taught me some basic table manners, like which fork to use for salad and how to tell which wine glass and water glass belonged to me at a table. We weren't using any of those at our dinner, but I was glad I could at least pretend to be well-bred while I sat with Henry.
"Thank you for this," I said softly, watching him in the soft candlelight. "I'm having a lot of fun."
I loved the way he smiled. I loved the way the candlelight caught the reds and golds in his hair and made them sparkle.
I loved everything about him.
I was falling dangerously fast for this man. He was irresistible and made me smile. I felt better when he was with me. I felt like anything was possible.
I felt lucky.
When we finished the meal, I stood up to collect the dishes. Henry helped. I set them in the sink, planning on doing them later. They could wait.
What I wanted couldn't wait.
Henry followed me to the kitchen, carrying our wine glasses and the empty chicken plate. I waited for him to set it down before pouncing on him with a kiss. I pressed him into the counter, using my body to trap him to me.
He let out a quiet yelp of surprise before wrapping his arms around me and thoroughly kissing me back. This was better than dinner. This was better than anything I could think of.
Well, almost.
Very gently, I pulled his shirt up and off, humming my approval as my hands slid over his chest.
Henry cocked one eyebrow up, but didn't make a move to stop me. Instead, he slid his hands down my back and pulled my hips into him. My core pressed down on his erection, making him groan.
"Aria," he whispered, my name like music. I loved the hoarse need in his voice when he called to me like that.
He grabbed my hips and spun me so I was the one against the counter. With a simple lift, he had me up and sitting on my kitchen counter, him between my legs and my breasts even with his eyes.
He reached up and undid the halter tie to my dress, letting it fall forward. I loved the way his eyes dilated as he found bare skin beneath my dress. His fingers slid up from my hips to cup my breasts, his thumbs playing with my nipples. He leaned forward, taking one into his mouth with a happy sigh.