The Promise

Chapter Nine

"You picked out a nice wine," she said, biting her lip and averting her gaze. She took a large sip before putting it back down to get back to work.

"Darling, would you like any help? I am a little concerned about you being on your feet so much."

"Um, you could put the garlic bread in the oven if you'd like and make a salad?"

He nodded and smiled at her as he got to work. There was plenty of room in the kitchen, but he liked to subtly press up against her as he went by. She grinned whenever he did it but didn't comment on it.

She'd made this meal a million times at home, so she wasn't sure what made this time so special. Perhaps it was the company. This wasn't just someone in her family. This was a man that she felt things for. Someone who chose to spend his time with her even though he could be spending it anywhere else and with anyone else.

Looking over at him as he cut up ingredients for the salad, she watched his hands as he worked. He had such magnificent hands. They were both strong and soft, large and warm, with long, slender fingers. She'd never been so attracted to a set of hands. Hands that knew exactly where and how to touch a woman. She felt hot at the remembrance of what he did with those hands at the park. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear him the first two times he called her name.

"Isabella? Are you ok?" He asked, a worrying crease adorning his brow.

"Oh, yes, sorry. I was just thinking," she said, embarrassed about being caught daydreaming.

"Something nice, I hope."

"Definitely," she replied with a crooked smile.

"Good. The salad is done, shall I do anything else?"

"I'm just going to put this in the oven to cook while I fry the meatballs. You can set the table if you'd like."

"Consider it done!" He said with a salute.

In no time, the food was done and they sat down at the table together to eat. Tom served them both before grabbing a bottle of wine and sitting down across from her.

"This looks absolutely delicious, Isabella," Tom said, eyes wide in awe.

His praise made her feel self-conscious as she pushed some stray hairs behind her ear. "Thank you. It's nothing fancy, but it is my favorite food. I've never made it for anyone else besides family so I hope you like it."

"If it tastes half as good as it smells, it will still be amazing. I have no doubt of that," he said, giving her a big, toothy grin. "So, how did you learn to cook this dish?"

"Oh, from my mother. It was always my favorite as a child, and as I got older, she thought it was time for me to be able to make it myself. Sunday dinner is a big deal in my family. Tradition and all that." She waved her arm around for effect before taking a bite. "First she taught me how to make the sauce. We keep things very simple in our house. My dad used to say, "The tomatoes speak for themselves. You only need to enhance their flavor." Usually, you let a purée sit for a few hours to really get tasty, but I think this one came out pretty good." She took another forkful, savoring the mixture of sauce and cheese as it slid down her throat.

Tom listened intently as she told her story, loving the little snippets of her life she gave him. He imagined big, Sunday dinners with tons of family gathered around a long table with lots of loud, noisy Italians talking and arguing, waving their hands around as they gesticulated each word. He also noticed how she was eating more. He wasn't sure if it was because she was distracted or if she was simply enjoying this meal since it was her favorite. Either way, he was happy. She looked very comfortable. He could tell that her family was a great source of strength for her. Hopefully, he would be able to meet them someday and see where she came from. From what he'd heard of her parents, they sounded hilarious.