“I already know I’ll love it.” She twirls linguine on her fork and then spears a piece of scallop before bringing the utensil to her mouth. Her eyes widen as she chews and swallows. “It’s wonderful. I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

My cheeks warm. I know I’m a great cook. Aunt Marj has sung my praises for years, and she’s a better chef than those in most of the finest restaurants. But to hear the praise from Ashley’s pink lips means more to me than my aunt’s most formidable compliment.

My lips nudge. I want to smile. Why am I holding back? I feel good, so I should smile. After all, I made that promise to Ashley and to myself. Yes, I need to hold back on emotion, but this is just a smile. What can it hurt?

I let my muscles go as she takes another bite, and her eyes widen once more.

She swallows. “Wow.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I do. It’s delicious. But the ‘wow’ was for that gorgeous smile on your face. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you smile like that.”

I know she hasn’t.

“You should smile more often,” she goes on.

“I’m just glad you like the dish.”

She returns my smile with her own dazzling one. Unlike me, Ashley smiles a lot, and every time it’s better than the last. Her whole face lights up, and my heart wants to leap out of my chest.

“Are you going to eat?” she asks.

My plate sits in front of me, the food still untouched. I’ve been entranced by her smile. I pick up my fork and swirl pasta onto it. “I’ve eaten this at least a hundred times.”

“But never with me.” She smiles again.

True words. I bring my fork to my mouth and savor the goodness of the linguine frutti di mare. The flavors dance on my tongue.

And damn, it’s never tasted better.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Ashley

Dale doesn’t talk much more as we finish the pasta, but that’s okay. I’m used to him being quiet. All I care about is that he’s here, I’m here, and we’re going to be together for the rest of my time in Colorado.

It’s not forever, but it’s a start.

And in the end, if three months are all I have of Dale Steel, it will be enough. One day with this man is better than a century with any other.

What if I don’t want to let him go at the end?

I brush off the thought and secure it in the Scarlett O’Hara file in the back of my mind. I’ll think about that tomorrow. More likely, in two months.

Dale refreshes our wineglasses and gestures to my empty plate. “Would you like some more?”

“Maybe just a little.”

He takes my plate and refills it with a half portion, his own with a full. Then he replenishes our salad bowls as well. These Steel boys all love to eat. They work so hard they can probably put away four thousand or more calories a day. I’m going to have to watch it while I’m here. Very easy to overeat all this delicious food.

When we finish our second helpings, Dale clears the table. “I didn’t have time to make dessert,” he says. “But I have some homemade brown sugar vanilla ice cream that Aunt Marj made.”

“Sounds great. I’d like to finish my wine first.”

He nods.

I lift my glass. “We didn’t toast.”

“I guess we didn’t.” He picks up his glass. “Salute.”

I smile. “Cheers in Italian. Appropriate for the meal, but I was thinking more along the lines of ‘to us.’” I clink my glass to his.

His expression tightens.

Oh, Dale. You’re still fighting this.

His silence goes on for a few seconds that seem like days. Until finally—

“To us.”

His voice is low and rich, its burgundy color saturating me.

He means it. He really means it.

We both take a sip. I want desperately to probe him with questions about his unrequited love. Who wouldn’t love Dale Steel? I yearn to break down his walls, get inside him, help him see the wonder of all he is.

Don’t push. I’ve gotten this far, and I can’t ruin it. Even though Dale is trying, part of his countenance is still rigid. Any mistake on my part, and our whole deal could be off.

This man means everything to me, and I can’t risk losing what he’s offered.

I smile, take another sip of my wine, and set the glass down. “Tell me something about yourself,” I say.

He widens his eyes. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything. I know very little about you.”

“I’m sure Dee filled you in.”

“Just on your personality. How you’re a little hard on people sometimes.”

“And I suppose you agree with her?”

I can’t hold back a laugh. “I’d say it was an understatement. With regard to me, anyway. Then I see you during tastings, and you’re smiling and jubilant.”

“My job at tastings is to sell wine. You should understand that, given your sommelier aspirations.”

“I do understand that, but you prove that you do have people skills, despite what Ryan says.”

“I do. I believe I’ve told you before that I bring them out when necessary.”

“Tell me why.”

“Why what?”

“Why do you only bring them out when necessary?”

He takes a sip of wine. “There’s no simple answer to that question, so I’ll answer another. You want me to tell you something about me. Something you don’t know. Here goes.” He inhales, exhales slowly. “My favorite color is blue.”

That’s what I get? Granted, I didn’t put any limitations on the question. So I’ll roll with it. “Really? That’s surprising.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve never seen you wear blue. You wear black or green. I think you wore a white shirt one time.”

“I look good in black and green. They both bring out the color of my eyes.”

“You’ll get no argument from me there. You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. I’m puzzled, though.”

“Why?”

“Because you seem almost… I don’t know. Like your looks don’t matter to you.”