From Bully To Beloved

Cal

When I open the door to my place, my senses are assaulted with the most mouth-watering aromas. I put down the heavy things in my hand, but I don’t even bother taking off my boots this time. Instead, I immediately head for the kitchen. Sera is wearing a sleeveless little black dress that hangs tantalizingly an inch above her knees. It would look perfect on my bedroom floor (or, better, folded on my side table or one of the chairs). On her feet are strappy black heels, and her hair is pinned up in an elegant swirl.

“Dear God,” I growl.

At the sound of my voice, she faces me with a smile. “Wait until you taste it.”

My body grows warm. I suddenly have a mental image of lifting her onto that kitchen island and pushing her dress up over those grabbable hips. “We jumping right to that? I’m game.”

She snorts in amusement. “I meant the food, perv. Take your boots off, I swept already, and I’m not doing it again.”

On the island-that’s the current foColtonpoint of my fantasies-the hors d’oeuvres are laid out on Gran’s silver serving platters, neat as a pin and looking delicious. “Oh, yeah, the food looks good too.” The asparagus smells of garlic, and the mushroom caps are filled with parmesan and herbs. But what grabs my attention the most isn’t the smell of the deliciousness in the oven.

“I used less oil. For a healthier alternative.”

“I never use oil unless there’s something that spit can’t conquer,” I say, lost in thought. All I can focus on is the punch-to-the-balls stunning woman in front of me. I eye her up and down. “You clean up well, Sera.”

She does a cute little spin and poses. “I know, right?”

“Why don’t you do me a favor? Close your eyes,” I tell her. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“All right…” She does.

I leave and return within seconds. “Open them.” I hand her the gift I got for her at the art store on the way home. “A little thank you.”

Her eyes widen excitedly as she takes the gift. “An easel! A wooden one. It’s the big adjustable one, the one I always wanted!” she says excitedly and hugs me. “Thank you! How did you know I wanted this one?”

“Lucky guess.” Honestly, the salesperson recommended it as their best, so that’s the one I picked.

“Working at a vertiColtonangle helps with precision and my drawing technique,” she explains. “It also reduces the mess.”

“Sounds perfect to me,” I say. Next, I hand her the two boxes I bought from Gino’s Bakery on the corner. “Homemade butter cookies, courtesy of Gino himself.”Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

“Oooh, a man after my own heart. How did you know butter cookies are my favorite?” she teases.

“Lucky guess.”

We grin as she opens one of the boxes.

Visually, they are nothing like Gran’s. They aren’t swirly, and they don’t hold the same elegant color. Gran’s cookies carried only the tiniest hint of gold, as if she had removed them from the oven just before the heat could distort the color. But at least these are the same size, and they’re homemade.

I place one cookie between my lips, but instead of biting through, I lean forward, challenging Sera to take a bite.

“Screw off.” She laughs, giving me a playful push. “We’re not kissing again, nice try.” She reaches into the box, smells the cookie, then plops it into her mouth. We both bite down at the same time.

“These are good,” she says, chewing, “but something’s missing. A secret ingredient. I wish Mrs. Bianca had left me the recipe. I asked her a million times. But she patted my hand and told me”-Sera mimics Gran’s voice again-“‘my apologies, darling. It’s a secret family recipe by my great-great-grandmother, and I don’t want to be haunted by her ghost for divulging our secrets. Sorry. Family only.'”

“Yep, that’s Gran.” Good old Bianca.

“She didn’t give you the recipe?”

“Sera, I’m a man. She wouldn’t have offered her cookie recipe to me.” Gran was old-fashioned. In her generation, men didn’t belong in a kitchen. It would never have crossed her mind to ask me, just like it wouldn’t have ever crossed my mind to ask her. “She took it to her grave I’m afraid.”

“Oh, okay. Well, too bad.”

Sera takes care of the boxes while I head to the bedroom to clean up and change. I walk past the dining room table which has all of Gran’s fine dishes washed and laid out. Sera has even put down a tablecloth and has cloth napkins folded on top of each plate. Damn, this is way too much. I have to make it up to her for going all out.