“Just thinking about dinner.”
He grins. “It’s going to be epic, no matter whose is better.”
“It is.” I smile back at him, my mind still going back to the image of him holding Joey and Lindy. Giving them both what they needed after a relatively minor accident. Joey’s fine, running around like nothing happened, and Lindy seems to be over her guilt. They were playing together like normal just before our guests began to arrive.
Meanwhile, the house is full of people. Fun, smart, interesting people.
Kelly apparently speaks Russian, so she and Vik are having an animated conversation by the fireplace in the great room. Jamie and Viggo are both handsome and rugged, and Viggo’s telling hockey stories to Jayne, Bodi, and Simon. Felix and Jamie are having what appears to be a casual conversation about tonight’s menu and I’m momentarily a little lost.
“Hey.” As always, West senses that I need him and he’s right here, hand at the small of my back. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. Just not sure how I fit in.”
“You fit in with me.” His eyes meet mine and a moment of clarity passes between us. The acknowledgment of something happening that isn’t going to stop just because we use words like “casual” or phrases like “one day at a time.” We’re steamrolling into serious, despite protesting all the way.
“You make my heart happy,” I whisper.
He smiles and kisses the top of my head.
Then a timer goes off and we both hurry into the kitchen.
It smells like heaven in here, and I sigh happily as I pull the osso bucco out of the oven. West makes his the traditional way, on the stove, but I do something different. It’s a technique I perfected in culinary school. Everyone I’ve ever made it for has loved it, and the dish always turns out perfectly.
I’m nervous now, though. Obviously, the stakes aren’t that high, but I can’t help but worry that I’ll be embarrassed if West wins. Which is ridiculous. He’s also a great cook, so there shouldn’t be any reason to be embarrassed. Except these are his friends and teammates. Technically, Jamie is his boss. Willhebe embarrassed if I win?
I whirl, suddenly panicked.
“West, what happens if mine is better?”
His eyes crinkle with amusement. “You get to plan a day of?—”
“No, no.” I interrupt, waving a hand impatiently. “I mean, does it make you look bad?”
He blinks. “What do you mean?”
“Jamie’s your boss…your teammates…” My voice trails because I’m not sure how to express my concerns.
“Wait—you think I’ll somehow be emasculated if your osso bucco is better than mine?”
“Emasculated, embarrassed, I don’t know, but if it might?—”
“Angel.” He pulls me close, that soft, sweet smile I love so much playing on his lips. “God, I love this about you—how you worry about me. Believe me, no one is going to be upset if I lose. Least of all me. That just gives me carte blanche to spoil you on a day when you can’t refuse to let me spend money.”
I sigh in relief. “I just worried that maybe this would make you look…bad.”
“Nah. I don’t care who wins. If it makes you feel better, we can just tell them who made what and forget the competition.
Now I feel a little foolish. West is a grown man who makes millions of dollars. He doesn’t care about a little friendly cooking competition with his girlfriend.
Girlfriend.
Am I his girlfriend?
I think I am.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t ever want to do anything that might embarrass you.”
“You won’t. Don’t give it another thought. Do you want to cancel the competition?”