Perfect For You by Perry Kate

Author:Perry, Kate [Perry, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Chick-Lit, Contemporary
Publisher: Kate Perry
Published: 2012-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

By the time she’d taken a shower and gotten dressed, Freya had come to a decision. Now all she needed was Greg, because she had a proposal to put to him.

She checked the time—he said he’d be here in half an hour. She almost wanted to call him and ask him to come early. But she couldn’t rush this. She’d ply him with food and be pleasant and then ask. Given the way he’d been pursuing her, she didn’t think he’d say no but she wanted to hedge her bets.

Cooking always relaxed her, so she focused on dinner. She was making salad dressing when her buzzer sounded.

Renewed anticipation shot through her. Wiping her hands on a towel, she went down to let him in.

His hair was still wet from his shower. He changed into a clean T-shirt and baggy cotton pants that looked perfect for an afternoon on a Caribbean beach. In his hands were a bright bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. “For you, and for dinner.”

“I love them,” she said, taking the flowers. “They aren’t roses.”

“You aren’t a rose kind of woman.”

No, she wasn’t, but most men weren’t that observant. She motioned him in. “Come up. You can open the wine.”

“Dinner smells delicious,” he said as they headed into the kitchen.

She handed him a wine opener and pointed to the glasses she’d already set out. “Pasta with roasted eggplant and smoked mozzarella, and a salad.”

“I’m impressed.” He expertly opened the bottle and poured two glasses. He brushed her shoulder as he reached to snag a piece of cheese from the cutting board as he watched her take care of the flowers. “My mom never cooked.”

She glanced at him as she set the vase on the counter. “What did you eat then?”

He shrugged, handing her a glass. “Pre-prepared food. A lot of deli things. I grew up in Manhattan, so we ate out a lot.”

“My mom loved to cook. I used to help her make these elaborate dinners. We’d all dress up, and I even got a little wine with dinner.”

He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You miss her.”

“All the time.”

“I wish my mom would let me miss her,” he said jokingly. Then he launched into a series of stories about his erratic mother that had her laughing all the way through dinner.

He insisted on doing the dishes, so she sat on the counter and kept him company as she savored her wine. He’d found the frilly French maid’s apron she received as a gag gift at last year’s office Christmas party and had put it on. She laughed and shook her head.

He glanced at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, her heart warm.

The feeling startled her. This wasn’t about her heart—this was about her muse. Needing a little space to compose herself for what she was about to suggest, she hopped off the counter. “I’ll wait for you in the living room.”

She’d equilibrated by the time he joined her, sitting on the floor. The better to be grounded, she thought.

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