Page 25 of The One You Want

“Hell yeah.” He bumped my shoulder with his. “I freakinglovesoup.”

I burst out laughing. “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard anyone quite so enthusiastic about the most boring course of ameal.”

He stopped walking in the middle of the road. “Jenny Hillman, you take thatback.”

I scrunched up my face, like I was giving it thought, before shaking my head. “Nope. I stand by it. Soup islame.”

He looked aghast. “You’re breaking my hearthere.”

I laughed again. “Okay, tell me then. What’s so great aboutsoup?”

He started walking again, bouncing a little on his heels, like he was excited. “Okay, so picture this. You spend an entire season preparing your squash crop. You fertilize, you water, you weed. And then, just as the weather is getting cooler, they’re finally ready. You dig them up, with your own two hands, these gorgeous vegetables you helped bring to life.” He was really animated now, waving his hands around, and I couldn’t stop watchinghim.

“Then you cut them open, slather ’em all up with fresh butter, let them cook low and slow in the oven for hours, that good cooking smell permeating the entire house.” He took in a deep breath, like he could smell it now. “And at the end of all of that effort and hard work, you have this delicious meal, the absolute perfect thing after a long day of physical work outside. It fills your belly, it warms you up, and you made it all yourself, every step of the way.” He grinned at me. “Tell me that’s notamazing.”

I just stared at him for a long moment, speechless. “Itisamazing,” I finally managed to squeak out, strangely overwhelmed. “I’ve…I’ve never done something like thatbefore.”

He bumped my shoulder with his. “Then I guess I’m making you soup next month,huh?”

I laughed. “I guess you are.” But even as I said it, I felt a slight twinge of disappointment. Even if I got to eat the fruits of his labor, it wouldn’t be the same as what he described. Because I wouldn’t have had a hand in makingit.

The meals I’d had growing up had been nothing like that. My grandparents employed a full time chef in their house, even though they took a vast majority of their meals up at the hotel. Everything they served, both at home and at the hotel, was shipped in from some far away food vendor. When I left home for college, I had barely known how to make myself toast. Even now I stuck to the bare minimum, most of my meals coming out of abox.

I had no idea what it was like to make something like that, from start to finish, the way Grant had described. The pride I’d heard in his voice was completely foreign tome.

We were down near the marina, only a few blocks to my house, when I felt Grant’s hand on the small of my back, guiding me towards the water. I immediately stiffened, not at all used to him touching me. Libby and Posey Conley were the kind of people who were perfectly comfortable showering their friends with physical affection. I’d been hugged more by the two of them than anyone else in mylife.

I was not touchy feely with any of my friends. And definitely not withGrant.

Maybe he read my discomfort, because he removed his hand, nodding at the benches lining the water’s edge. “Sit down for aminute?”

“Sure.”

We sat down and he tilted his head back. “Clouds cleared up. Look at thosestars.”

I tilted my head back as well, gazing up at the riot of twinkling lights in the darksky.

“This is what I missed the most about home when I was at school,” I told him. “You never see the stars like this anywhereelse.”

“Where’d you go toschool?”

Shit. Why did I bring that up? I hated talking about college. People always got the wrongidea.

“Harvard,” I muttered, then hurried on before he could express his shock. People were always shocked. Apparently I didn’t fulfill their image of what a Harvard student was like. “My grandfather is an alum. He probably had to donate an entire building to get them to acceptme.”

I could feel Grant’s eyes on me but I kept mine carefully on the stars above, not wanting to see his face. After a long moment he spoke. “What’d youstudy?”

I had the strangest feeling it wasn’t what he’d wanted toask.

“Art history,” I mumbled. “Same as my grandmother. That’s where they met—she was at Radcliffe when he was attending Harvard.” I laughed ruefully. “I’m pretty sure she expected me to come home with a ring on my finger too. She didn’t understand why anyone would want to go to college to actually learn something.” Any woman, at least. “You should have heard her ranting about the Harvard-Radcliffe merger when I was applying. She was furious I wouldn’t be at a women’s college likeher.”

He was quiet again, for longer this time. “You never sound all that happy when you talk about yourgrandparents.”

I swallowed hard. We were once again nearing a subject I tried like hell to avoid. But for some reason tonight, I just kept barreling towards the things I normally kept under a tightlid.

“They pretty much raised me,” I said, so softly I was surprised he could hear me. I cleared my throat and tried again. “My parents got divorced when I was five. It’s kind of amazing they lasted thatlong.”

“I’msorry.”