"I'll go under and all over for your clarity"

Sweetest Devotion (25)

had made Panzanella Salad that my grandma had put a bit of a twist to in her recipe. Don't ask me what the twist was, because I couldn't tell you. It was a sweet dish that I remember my grandma made very often. I used to love it as a child, especially since my mother couldn't cook to save her life and I lived for my grandmothers cooking. Everyone, including my father, made fun of her for her inability to cook. Being her witty self, my mom would shoot back at my dad that he couldn't cook either and he would shut instantly, amused at his wife.

My mouth gaped at how gorgeous my dining table looked with the salad and the day old cake that I hadn't touched yesterday. He'd somehow found my candles and had lit three of them along the middle of the table. When he called me up telling me he was finished preparing dinner, the lights were off and the room was dimly lit.

"Are you purposefully trying to be perfect or are you just perfect?" I asked, honestly curious because I was beyond taken back. There's nothing sexier than a guy who can cook. Add Harold into the mix and its sensory overload. He was actually going to prepare something else, I remember him explaining to me how he was going to do it all, but my clumsiness got in the way. So, he chose to change the menu quickly to make the salad. To be fair though, I don't blame myself. The thoughts of Harold in my kitchen alone, looking as he did should've been enough to chop my fingers off accidentally. However, adding thoughts of what would happen to us if we let us develop further was surely to do the trick. I'm surprised I didn't actually cut my entire finger off.

He laughed at my answer and nodded at my empty plate. "Shut up and eat, Elle."

I grinned at him as I scooped a bit of the salad onto my plate and stopped when Harold stared at me like I'd just offended him. "What's wrong?"

He pointed at my plate. "That's all you're going to eat?"

I gave him a stupid look. "No! This is just for me to try, I swear."

He narrowed his eyes at me, studying me to see if I was lying. But I guess he realized I wasn't, because he shrugged and let it go, completely filling his plate with the salad. I went back to my food and took a small bite.

"Holy shit. This is a salad?" I asked, completely mortified, because there was no way in hell that I'd just eaten salad. What kind of sorcery was this?

He looked up at me, looking amused. "Yes, why?"

I scoffed. "This is not salad. You're lying to me."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well," I said matter-of-factly, "salad is dull and leafy. This doesn't taste anything like a salad."

He laughed. "Leafy?"

I nodded.

"What kind of salad are you eating?"

I looked around, beginning to feel the shame creep up on me. "The kind that I make."

He stared at me, stupefied. "You're joking?"

My lips thinned as I shook my head slowly, almost laughing at myself, because I can't make salad to save my life. "I wish, but I'm not."

"You don't know how to make salad?" he said slowly, putting down his fork as if what he'd said was too much for him to actually comprehend.

"No, I can make salad," I refused to admit what I've known for so long. "It just doesn't taste good."

He snickered, looking at me like he couldn't believe what he was seeing in me. I almost questioned whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but there was this glint in his eyes and I knew from the purity in them that it was a good thing. "Maybe sometime I'll teach you."

I grinned at him. "Please do, because I'm sick of takeouts."

He tilted his head, becoming a bit more serious. "Do you not know how to cook anything?"

My grin widened. "No, not really."

The thing is though I was lying to him, not about the salad but the food in general part. I can cook, really well actually. But for some reason, I didn't want to tell him that now. Maybe I could cook something for him one day and surprise him. God knows he'd completely swept me off my feet tonight.

He narrowed his eyes, joy glimmering in his smile. "I think we should stop whatever we're starting here."

I gasped, knowing full well he was joking with me. "Oh, why?"

"Surely, I can't be with a woman who can't cook anything?" He stated boastfully, sitting up straight in a prim and proper manner.

"Wha-how rude of you?" I feigned complete disgust in what he had expressed.

"It's not rude, it's called having confidence in what I want out of a relationship," he asserted confidently.

I snickered. "So you want a personal chef?"

He nodded. "Hell yea I do. Are you kidding?"

Shaking my head, I let out a soft chuckle at him. "You're ridiculous."

He took a bite from his plate and returned his focus to me, our playful manner melting away as his eyes turned serious. "I shouldn't be doing this," he breathed out moments later.

I had to strain my ears to understand what he'd said and when I did, I was surprised at how well I understood his words. I got him and what he was concerned with. There was fire building between us and I guess like me, he feared it may grow to destroy us both in the end. But there was so much more that added to my worry and it was definitely not what was concerning him. So instead of interrogating him like he'd done something wrong, I spoke to him in an understanding manner. "What do you mean?"

He closed his eyes for a short second before opening them. He leaned in closer to me, our faces so close together with only about an inch of air between us. My breath hitched as I saw the piercing strangled evidence that sat in his eyes. "I shouldn't be here with you. I should be leaving right now, cutting off communication forever. It would be the right thing to do for the sake of both of us. But I can't, Adele. I just can't. There's something about you that feels so right. I don't care how cliché it all sounds, because I feel it. I feel something right with you and I can't make myself turn away to do the right thing. I can't pull away from you. There's a civil war going on in my head and you're winning. You're winning all the battles; there's nothing I can do but give in to your smile, your laugh, your words, the parts of you that I know, and the parts of you that I don't know. And I want to know all of you. In the absurdity of all this, I'm only sure of one thing and that's that I want you. I want to try with you, Elle."