My
world would stop without you."
Dammit—tears
from me, too!
WHEN WE RETURNED HOME a few hours later, I discovered the romantic evening
Justin had in mind for us. While we were out, he had someone come in and rearrange
our living room. Now we have an elegant dining table set beside our Christmas
tree, overlooking the patio and our view of lower Manhattan.
Piano
music is softly blowing through the spacious suite and there are candles lit.
As he promised earlier, there's dinner with a breathtaking view, but I don't
see the private chef yet.
Justin
takes my purse and coat, hanging them in the foyer closet for me before he
slides off the jacket of his suit and tosses it over the arm of our couch. I
watch him slowly unbutton the sleeves of his shirt and then roll them up to his
elbows.
He
looks hot as hell, and I quickly wonder if there's a way I could ride his arms.
As if he read my mind, he holds out one of them for me to take. "Come keep
the chef company," he says, leading me toward the kitchen.
I'm
expecting to find someone at work in there, stirring away like a nut, steam
rising from assorted pots, but it's empty when we go in. Justin motions me to a
chair, pulling it out from under the kitchen table for me. "Get
comfortable," he says through a wide smile. He crosses to a tall cabinet,
swings the door open effortlessly, and takes out an apron.
Oh my
God— he's the chef! He's too fucking cute.
The
mostly white, mildly used apron slides over his head and he ties the waist snug
around his middle. "Coconut shrimp sound good for a start?"
"Absolutely,"
I reply, almost nervously. "Do you need any help?"
"No.
I've got this," he says as he pours oil into a skillet and turns on the
heat.
I watch
him work; coating the fantail shrimp, frying them to a golden brown. I'm
impressed, there's no point in lying. He had a mango sauce all ready and we
began munching while he made parmesan crusted pork chops, risotto, and green
beans seasoned with rosemary and thyme.
At
least once, every woman should experience having a gorgeous man in an expensive
suit throw on an apron and cook her a dinner. I'm just mush by the time he's
done, and I don't know if I want to eat, cry, or spread the food all over his
body and lick it off. If I could, I'd do all three. There was such pride in his
face, and his attention never once swayed from me. His loving glances linger on
me each time long after his eyes have moved on. If he could, Justin would spend
his life doing everything for me, which makes me want to do everything for him.
He does
let me help carry everything to the table, and he turns the lights down so that
we can enjoy the candles and the lights from the tree. It was everything he'd
promised earlier. That isn't even fair—it's much more than he'd promised. The
simplicity of it is beautiful, creating emotions that I don't have words for.
I'm officially overwhelmed.
It
doesn't hurt that he nailed the food; it’s absolutely delicious. I eat and watch
his face fill with boyish charm and wonder as he stares at the lights during
our conversation. What it must be like for him, after years of not celebrating
the holidays, of having no one to be with, is beyond me. I'm here for him now,
and he for me, and he looks adorable by candle.
Junior's
cheesecake is our desert, of course. We sprawl out on the floor under the tree
with the entire box between us, no plates, just a fork each.
"I
don't know how safe this is," I tell him. "There's nothing stopping
us from eating the entire cake in one shot."
He
laughs, his granite jaw working magically under his beautiful lips. "Screw
it, it's Christmas."
"I'm
still in shock that you cooked that dinner. If I didn't watch you do it, I
would not have believed it."
"I'll
hope that's a compliment and that you liked it," he chuckles.
For a
moment I am hypnotized by the twinkle in his green eyes. "I loved it! It
was amazing, and so are you. I can't believe you can cook on top of everything
else. Or
world would stop without you."
Dammit—tears
from me, too!
WHEN WE RETURNED HOME a few hours later, I discovered the romantic evening
Justin had in mind for us. While we were out, he had someone come in and rearrange
our living room. Now we have an elegant dining table set beside our Christmas
tree, overlooking the patio and our view of lower Manhattan.
Piano
music is softly blowing through the spacious suite and there are candles lit.
As he promised earlier, there's dinner with a breathtaking view, but I don't
see the private chef yet.
Justin
takes my purse and coat, hanging them in the foyer closet for me before he
slides off the jacket of his suit and tosses it over the arm of our couch. I
watch him slowly unbutton the sleeves of his shirt and then roll them up to his
elbows.
He
looks hot as hell, and I quickly wonder if there's a way I could ride his arms.
As if he read my mind, he holds out one of them for me to take. "Come keep
the chef company," he says, leading me toward the kitchen.
I'm
expecting to find someone at work in there, stirring away like a nut, steam
rising from assorted pots, but it's empty when we go in. Justin motions me to a
chair, pulling it out from under the kitchen table for me. "Get
comfortable," he says through a wide smile. He crosses to a tall cabinet,
swings the door open effortlessly, and takes out an apron.
Oh my
God— he's the chef! He's too fucking cute.
The
mostly white, mildly used apron slides over his head and he ties the waist snug
around his middle. "Coconut shrimp sound good for a start?"
"Absolutely,"
I reply, almost nervously. "Do you need any help?"
"No.
I've got this," he says as he pours oil into a skillet and turns on the
heat.
I watch
him work; coating the fantail shrimp, frying them to a golden brown. I'm
impressed, there's no point in lying. He had a mango sauce all ready and we
began munching while he made parmesan crusted pork chops, risotto, and green
beans seasoned with rosemary and thyme.
At
least once, every woman should experience having a gorgeous man in an expensive
suit throw on an apron and cook her a dinner. I'm just mush by the time he's
done, and I don't know if I want to eat, cry, or spread the food all over his
body and lick it off. If I could, I'd do all three. There was such pride in his
face, and his attention never once swayed from me. His loving glances linger on
me each time long after his eyes have moved on. If he could, Justin would spend
his life doing everything for me, which makes me want to do everything for him.
He does
let me help carry everything to the table, and he turns the lights down so that
we can enjoy the candles and the lights from the tree. It was everything he'd
promised earlier. That isn't even fair—it's much more than he'd promised. The
simplicity of it is beautiful, creating emotions that I don't have words for.
I'm officially overwhelmed.
It
doesn't hurt that he nailed the food; it’s absolutely delicious. I eat and watch
his face fill with boyish charm and wonder as he stares at the lights during
our conversation. What it must be like for him, after years of not celebrating
the holidays, of having no one to be with, is beyond me. I'm here for him now,
and he for me, and he looks adorable by candle.
Junior's
cheesecake is our desert, of course. We sprawl out on the floor under the tree
with the entire box between us, no plates, just a fork each.
"I
don't know how safe this is," I tell him. "There's nothing stopping
us from eating the entire cake in one shot."
He
laughs, his granite jaw working magically under his beautiful lips. "Screw
it, it's Christmas."
"I'm
still in shock that you cooked that dinner. If I didn't watch you do it, I
would not have believed it."
"I'll
hope that's a compliment and that you liked it," he chuckles.
For a
moment I am hypnotized by the twinkle in his green eyes. "I loved it! It
was amazing, and so are you. I can't believe you can cook on top of everything
else. Or
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