Virgin Lips

26. Old dreams and uncertain futures

"Are you sure you don't want any help?" I wondered, yet without getting up. I was pretty comfortable, lying on the couch, watching him cook. I wouldn't get up for anything in the world. One week working for Mrs. Wharton killed me almost as much as working at the diner did, my bones have been achy all day.

Jeremy shook his head, his back turned to me, so I had no idea what was he making. All I know is that he came over early this afternoon, and started cooking. I had time to take a shower, feed the cats, lock them in my room so they don't try to murder him, and rest comfortably on the couch. And still, he wasn't done. "That would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?"

I chuckled. "I know, but I feel bad ... you're doing all the work."

He turned to me, only to send me a sweet smile of his. "That's the whole point, Jo. Besides, you said you can't cook."

"Well, I can ... just ... basic things."

He laughed. "No basic tonight. You deserve something special."

"What are we celebrating?"

He shrugged, turning back to the kitchen counter, I bet not to let me see he was kind of blushing the same as I would. "Your newfound determination to pursue your dreams?" Jeremy asked rhetorically. "Or your new job? Or maybe ... the fact that after a month we're still here. Your pick."

My stomach flipped at the mention of us. It's already been an entire month. And I guess now with this ... romantic dinner he decided to ambush me with, there's no doubt: we are indeed a couple.

I'm not sure how to feel about it. It's something that 20-year-old me daydreamed about every single day, it almost distracted me from my studies, so much that I forced myself to avert my attention from it, in fear that it would ruin my plans, my ambitions. If I think back, I don't know whether to laugh or what. It wasn't just deep shyness and crippling self-doubt, it was also the absolute certainty that I needed to keep my eyes on the prize, otherwise I wouldn't have made it. Well, guess what, I did keep my eyes on the prize, but I still didn't make it.

"Where are Reese and Shaw?" Jeremy asked, chopping something on the counter.

"Sleeping in the bedroom."

"No dinner?"

I smiled lazily. "You can try to feed them, but they don't really like people." Except Ben and Hope. For some reason my cats only like those two.

"Last time I went near Reese, he decided we're enemies for life." Jeremy chuckled, showing his left hand, which that little rascal had scratched the moment he'd tried to pet him.

"Sorry about that."

Jeremy shrugged. "He'll get used to me. They both will." Did he just imply what I think he did?

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"Where did you learn to cook?" I couldn't help asking after one of the most delicious dinners of my entire life. I've never had much of a refined palate, I'm a pretty easy type when it comes to cooking, and I'll admit my mom was never great at it either, so this dinner ... my God! From croque monsieur to pasta with vodka sauce, then chicken piccata with lemon sauce, and now ... French madeleines.

"It's always been a hobby." Jeremy said. "But I don't really know how to bake."

I grabbed a madeleine. "Is that why you planned a cooking class if we went to the Berkshires?"

He chuckled, nodding, guilty. "Yep ... you caught me. How did you know?"

"I saw the flyer in your car."