7. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Mandy

T he kitchen and living room are finally ready, and I want to celebrate with Michael. I know it's wrong. He'll think I want to get back together with him again, but I can't help myself. He's the one I want to share this win with. Wait, do I want to get back together with him? I don't know what's up or down right now. I owe a huge debt to a loan shark and can't think about romance right now.

There's a soft knock at the front door, and I know it's just Michael coming back to have dinner with me. He looked really happy when I invited him, so I'm hoping this is not the wrong thing to do. I've never felt this insecure about something in my life. I don't know what's going on with me. The man in question pops his head in the kitchen.

"Wow, it smells amazing in here. Way to christen the kitchen."

"Hey, I just need about fifteen more minutes. Why don't you get a beer from the fridge?"

"Do you want a beer?” he asks, “Or do you want me to pour you a glass of wine?"

"Beer is okay."

He stands next to me and opens the fridge door. He takes out two bottles and removes the caps in that magic way men do. I've never learned how to do it, nor do I want to.

I toss the salad while Michael watches me intently.

"Do I have something in my hair?"

"What? Why?"

"You keep staring at me."

"You're the most beautiful thing in this house," he says in a low tone.

I blush, and I can't help but feel a little giddy inside because of the compliment. Instead of flirting back with him, I hand him the salad bowl. His face has a serious look, and it doesn't waver when he goes to put the salad on the table. I take out the garlic bread from the oven and place it on a fancy tray I found between my grandmother's things.

He takes the tray from me and returns to the dining room. I suddenly hear soft music coming from back there. That's not good. That will make me remember what it used to be like between the two of us.

The oven timer rings, and I take out the lasagna. I serve us two generous pieces and bring them to the table.

"Wow, you made all my favorites,” he says. “Thank you."

"This is my way of thanking you for doing such a good job on the remodel. Things are moving along nicely, and I appreciate that more than you know."

We eat in silence, and I giggle every time Michael takes a bite and moans with pleasure.

"I forgot you sound like you're having sex when you eat. You need to learn to keep it down."

"I only do that when I'm with you."

"Is that a confession?"

"Your cooking does things to me, Mandy."

I nibble on a piece of bread and lower my eyes. Michael has always made me feel special, and tonight is no different. Suddenly, the doorbell rings, and we both jump up in surprise.

"I'll go get it." He holds up a hand to keep me from getting up.

Sitting back down, I squeeze the life out of my cloth napkin. Who could it be at this time of night? Pretty soon, I see two elderly women push their way into the house.

"Hi, dear."

"Hi, Mrs. Carter, Mrs. Pierce. What brings you by at this time of night?"

"Loverboy here forgot to bring the dessert you ordered from Flora's."

"Oh, I forgot about that. I never told Michael about it. I thought I'd have more time to run into town and get it. Thanks for bringing it."

"Don't you worry, dearie. I'm just next door to you. I've got my eye on you."

That's absolutely the last thing I want to hear from this octogenarian. Thankfully, I'm not sleeping in this house. Michael is still at the door, looking confused. I raise my eyebrows at him, and he looks defeated. He closes the door and comes sit down next to me. The ladies have already taken a seat next to us and are eating all my garlic bread.

"Did you cook for him, dearie?" Mrs. Carter asks.

"I did."

"Good thinking. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Just ask Mr. Carter."

I would, but Mr. Carter is six feet under in the Woodland Falls Cemetery. I give her a small smile. She must be missing her husband of sixty years terribly. It was probably a slip in her memory.

"What was Mr. Carter's favorite?"

Michael makes eyes at me, and I don't even need to guess what he’s trying to convey. He wants me to cut this thing short so that we can eat in peace. I've got manners, though, and can't toss the old girls away.

"Pot roast."

"I'd love to try my hand at that recipe, Mrs. Carter. Would you mind sharing it with me?"

"We'll do it on Saturday, dear. I'll text you the ingredients so you can buy them." She squints her eyes at Michael. "What exactly are your intentions with Mandy, Michael Hoffer?"

"Ma'am?"

"This here is a romantic dinner, young man. Are you going to court her again?" Mrs. Pierce asks.

"Calm down, ladies. I made this dinner as a thank you for all the hard work Michael and his crew have done on the house."

"I don't see any of the crew here celebrating."

I blush profusely and clear my throat.

"Do you want some lasagna? I've got plenty."

Michael closes his eyes in resignation.

"No, dear. We'll be going. Just be careful with this Casanova."

That makes me giggle and I get up to walk the ladies to the door. I don't know why Michael is considered a Casanova now, but I'm eager to find out. The ladies walk slowly towards the door, and I thank them for bringing the dessert. When I close the door behind them, I take a breath and turn around, only to find Michael standing right behind me.

He grabs me by the waist, and our bodies are now flush with one another. I can feel him breathing fast as if he's just run a marathon, and I feel a little lightheaded. I look up into his eyes and see hunger and desire there, and I swear if he wasn't holding me tight, I would fall down on my ass. He's got me, though, and I don't think he wants to let go.

I lick my lips in silent invitation. God, I shouldn't do that, but I do it again. His pupils dilate further, and he lowers his mouth so it’s just an inch from mine. It feels like he's letting me make this decision, and I know I'm going to make the wrong one. I lift up on my toes and press my lips to his. They are salty and warm and I close my eyes as I let myself go and indulge in their texture.

For a few seconds, he doesn't move, and I worry I might have pushed him into something he doesn't want, but then his mouth takes over mine and starts ravaging my lips in passionate hunger. I grab his shirt and pull him tightly to me. The kiss goes on and on until I have to stop because I literally can't breathe.

"Wow," I gasp.

He lets out a slow breath. "I think I should go—otherwise, we might christen something else in this house."

I blush, but truly, what he's saying is true, and I don't even know if I want to start a romantic entanglement with him. I don't want to let him down once again.

"Right."

I go pick up the dishes, and Michael helps me clean and put everything back. I send him home with a piece of lasagna and some bread for tomorrow's lunch, and I go back to Ana Maria’s house, where she jumps at the chance to have a home-cooked meal. Throughout the night all I can think about are Michael's lips on mine and how we couldn't get enough of each other.

I can't get involved with him if I'm not willing to tell him the truth. Will he hate me forever when I refuse his advances?

Can I refuse his advances?