He seemed glad to turn the conversation back to me. “Even with the CIA right up the road?”
“The Culinary Institute of America is an amazing school—one of the best. But it was here, and I wanted to be there.”
“California specifically?” he asked.
“Yes and no. I was intrigued by the West Coast because it was on the other side of the world, kind of. And I really liked being out there—liked the weather, the people, especially in Santa Barbara. But I think mostly it was because it was not here.”
“But it’s so great here,” he said, looking puzzled. “It seems like the perfect place to grow up.”
“Spoken like someone who’s actually gotten to live a little,” I said with a chuckle. “Where did you grow up?”
“Manhattan, mostly. I was born there, went to school there through eighth grade, then I went away.”
“To prep school?”
He nodded ruefully, rolling his eyes a bit.
“Let me guess, Andover?”
“Exeter.”
“Ooooo, you rowed one of those boats, didn’t you!”
“You mean crew?”
“Crew! Yes!”
“I did,” he replied, his face reflecting confusion and delight at my obvious enjoyment. But before I had a chance to ask him about anything else, he swung the subject back to me. “So, was there a reason you wanted out of here so bad?”
“Let’s just say my mother had a lot of boyfriends, and leave it at that.”
He looked a bit horrified. “Wait, you mean— did they—”
“No, nothing like you’re imagining! It was just . . . my mother believes in love at first sight.”
“Well, that’s . . . romantic?”
“It’s exhausting,” I said, holding my head in my hands and peeking at him through my fingers. “It meant every new guy was the one and only, her soul mate, her be all and end all. And if, in the middle of this new exciting romance, she forgot to pay the electric bill and the lights got shut off by the power company, true love would conquer all, right?”
“True love versus electricity?”
“Well, that only happened once. But there was always stuff like that. Missing a school play because Bob had a tractor pull, or no cupcakes to bring to school on my birthday because Chuck ate them all at midnight. But the worst was the break-ups. She met her Prince Charming over and over again, and when Prince Charming inevitably left, there was the aftermath. She’d be emotionally decimated. And yet, ready to go when the next guy in shiny armor showed up.”
“Sounds like she’s what they call a—”
“Crazy person?”
“I was going to say hopeless romantic,” he said, arching an eyebrow at me. “So I take it that gene wasn’t passed down to you?”
“Not so much,” I answered, shaking my head. “Love is messy, painful, and emotionally draining. It hardly seems worth it.” He was studying me carefully: time to lighten things up a bit. “But blah blah blah, boring boring boring. Let’s talk about crew some more, because now I’m imagining you on a boat without a shirt on, and hello, I’m enjoying that image!”
He grinned. “You are, huh?”
“Yeah, tell me all about your oar. What position did you play?” I asked eagerly, wanting to flesh out this fantasy with some real-life details.
He laughed. “You know nothing about crew, do you?”
“I know there’s a guy at the end that chants or something.”
“The coxswain?”
“Now you’re talking.” I sighed, playing at swooning. Emboldened by his chuckle, I hopped out of my chair and right onto his lap. He was surprised, but also seemed delighted. “Please keep saying more words like coxswain.”
“You’re besmirching one of the oldest traditions in American prep schools, and I won’t have it,” he scolded as I wriggled a bit, prompting him to push back from the table a bit to give me more room. Which enabled his arms to wrap around my waist, his thumbs tracing little arcs on my skin.
“Besmirch isn’t nearly as good as coxswain,” I teased. “Give me more pretty preppy words, like Izod or Perrier.”
“What year do these preppies live in?” he asked, watching me with an amused grin as I played with the buttons on his shirt.
“The Year of the Coxswain has a wonderful ring to it.” I leaned in and rubbed my cheek on his beard. “Did I mention how much I like this beard?”
“You haven’t, but thanks. I was thinking of shaving it off, though.”
“Don’t do that yet, there’s something I want to try first.” I let my hands come up to his beard, roughing it up a bit with my fingertips.
“What might that be?” he asked, scooting the chair back a bit more. I took the opportunity to rise up a bit, throwing one leg over to straddle him.
“I can’t tell you. Not yet,” I said, feeling my cheeks heat up.
He held my face in his hands. “Look at you blush. I wonder what you’re thinking about,” he teased, happy.
“Shush,” I said, laughing. I rocked forward a bit, tipping my hips and arching my back, and his face went from amused to instantly focused. “Why aren’t we kissing yet?”
“Hell if I know,” he replied, then kissed me strong. He kissed me hot. And when his tongue teased, my lips parted—hell, my thighs parted . . . more . . . And he kissed me wet.