I stand before my full-length mirror, studying every aspect of myself. Does a skirt seem like I'm trying too hard? I want to look nice but not overly nice like I'm trying to look nice for him. I want an outfit that looks casually put together, not one that looks like I've been obsessing over it for two hours.
I spent time on my hair and make-up, taming my wild mane and rimming my eyes with liner and mascara, hoping to look effortless.
I fidget with my fingers as I walk slowly down the stairs. Somehow, I'm simultaneously looking forward to this and terrified at the same time. He makes me nervous and fluttery. The smell of hot, fresh pizza hits me halfway down and I pick up speed. The nerves I'm feeling are no match for my hunger.
When I enter the kitchen he's chopping up vegetables and lettuce for a salad. The patio door is open and the delicious smell is coming from outside.
Our eyes meet and I'm frozen, halfway through the door. His stare is piercing and nerve-wracking like he can see into my soul. A shudder runs down my spine and I shiver.
"I thought we would eat outside. I have a brick pizza oven out there that will keep us warm and it's a beautiful night," his voice is like velvet on my skin, it's soft but there is a richness that lingers.
"Can I help with anything?"
"Actually, I was wondering if I could make a request," he bites into his lip nervously.
I nod and my lips twitch. Something about his nervousness is endearing.
"Do you know how to make a tart tatin?"
My smile widens, "I do."
"I have all of the ingredients, would you show me how to make one? My dough always comes out tough and my caramel burns before the apples are cooked through. Everything you've made here has been perfect, I was hoping you wouldn't mind a special request."
"I don't mind at all," I try to stop smiling but I can't.
"Why don't you go sit? I'll be right out."
As soon as I step onto the deck I'm flooded with memories from last night. My cheeks burn as I remember shamelessly staring at his lips, willing him to bend down and kiss me. Of course, he steps out of the kitchen now, his large frame moving gracefully to a small table to set down the salad before moving to the outdoor oven.
I watch the hard muscles of his back through his shirt as he slides the paddle into the fire to pull the pizza out. He brings a perfectly cooked, cheesy, saucy, ooey-gooey pizza to a pan sitting in front of me.
"You made this?"
I'm completely shocked. Everything I've had since I've been here has been amazing, I don't know why I was expecting anything less than the best.
He sits in the seat across from me and hands me a plate.
"I... I wanted to apologize for last night. The more I remember the more mortified I am. I'm so sorry for letting myself get so sloppy."
He slides a scalding hot slice onto my plate, then one onto his.
"Did you mean what you said?"
"What do you mean?" I try to remember everything I said. Of course, I meant that he looked handsome under the moonlight but I don't want him to know that.
"You said that I'm not as much of an asshole as you first thought."
I choke, "Did I really say that?"
He laughs, obviously amused by my humiliation.
"You did, and to be fair, I agree that I was an asshole to you when you first arrived."
"I'm sure that in my inebriated state I thought I was paying you a compliment, I would never have phrased it that way..."
"Oh, you were very complimentary," he smiles smugly.
"Ok, stop making fun of me," a smile tugs at my lips.
"For the sake of honesty, I will say, moonlight suits you, too."
My breath hitches and I jerk my eyes up to meet his. He looks sincere, a soft, easy smile on his face. My cheeks flush and I look down at my plate.
I bite into my slice of pizza and hold back a moan. It's delicious. The sauce is perfectly cooked, flavorful and herbaceous, holding up to the fresh mozzarella. The crust is chewy and soft inside and crispy on the bottom.
"This is so good!" I gush, taking another bite quickly.
"I wasn't sure what you liked, topping-wise, so I went with a classic margherita."
"It's perfect, seriously. Did you make everything? The dough for the crust and the sauce?"
"Yeah, all of it."
"I have a hard time believing that your tart tatin comes out poorly."
He puts his hands up, "I swear it, baking is not my specialty."
We eat in silence for several minutes. Not uncomfortable, but surprisingly serene.
_____
"Look at your apple compared to mine!" I laugh.
"You said pieces of equal size! These are identical!"
"I said equal size to mine! Your pieces will cook through and start to turn to mush before mine are tender."
He grabs a new apple and starts to chop it into pieces that match mine.
"Much better," I tut as I start to melt butter in the skillet. I notice the smile on his face and try to ignore how it makes my heart beat rapidly.
After arranging the apples in the pan in a beautiful pattern and tucking the crust over the top he slides it into the oven.
I pull myself up to sit on the counter, watching as he pops a piece of extra apple into his mouth.
"That night in the greenhouse," he clears his throat, "the book you were reading..."
"Wuthering Heights."
"Right, had you read it before?"
"Several times, it's one of my favorites."
"Really?" He looks surprised, "why?"
"I guess I can't help but feel a connection to Heathcliff... he's an orphan..." I let my voice fade before switching to a different reason. "It's the pain and torture of unfulfilled love, it's what happens when love is wasted, when hearts are broken. It's romantic in a dark, obsessed way..."
His bottom lip is pulled between his thumb and forefinger, listening. I haven't felt so appreciated in a very long time.
When he doesn't answer I tilt my head down, catching his eye line.
"It's my favorite book too, for those reasons," he pulls himself to sit beside me on the counter, "Heathcliff is the victim and the villain, he's cruel and cold but there are also moments that your heart can't help but bleed for him."
I see where he's going with this, the parallels that he is drawing between them.
"You're not the villain, Lincoln, not even close."
He hums and stares down at the floor, "a whole pack died due to my inaction and neglect. If I would have saved them, I would have saved my mate. Now everyone I love is cursed to live without half of their soul."
My heart constricts, aching in my chest. Without thinking I reach out, grasping his hand in mine. As soon as our skin touches my whole body warms. He pulls my hand up from mine and touches my cheek softly, running his thumb over my bottom lip.
I inch myself closer, begging him to kiss me.
His eyes drill into mine, his gaze is so intense that it sends goosebumps over my skin.
Just as quickly as it started, it's over. He jumps down from the counter and walks out of the kitchen without looking back. I can't help but to feel crushed.
Of course, he doesn't want me.
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