Something About Emmett (Billionaire Romance) [COMPLETED]

Chapter 7 - Something Proposed

I was not the best cook, nor did I particularly like the kitchen, but the next night I made it my goal to prepare something edible that actually required the stove.

I had already made a simple white sauced pasta that was not the least bit difficult to put together, and I was currently finishing up with the chicken pieces that would be mixed into it.

Inside of the refrigerator sat a pitcher of lemon iced tea that I had prepared, and I couldn't help but to feel most excited for the tea.

I loved tea. Long Island or virgin.

I was mixing the pasta and chicken into a bowl when I heard a knock at the door. Singing to myself I washed my hands and dried them on the red apron I wore, not bothering to remove it.

I'd have to put it in the dirty basket tonight, pasta sauce had fallen god-smack in the center of it.

I was still singing when I opened the door, only to find him standing there in black. I quickly stopped singing.

"I really should look before I open," I said as form of greeting.

He gave me an oscar-winning smile that didn't let my sarcasm deter him.

"Hello to you too, Julianne," he said, and it had me near me to a smile.

"Hi. Are you looking for my dad? I'll call him downstairs for you."

He shook his head. "No, I came here to see you."

My brows furrowed in confusion. "Okay, well. What is it?"

Emmett raised his nose slightly, taking in the air around him. I could only watch with slightly stifled impatience, my fist perched on my hip.

"Not only are you blonde, but you cook now." He smiled then, taking in my unruly appearance of casual clothing, hair mussed over my head in a bun, and the dirty apron. I was barefoot, too.

The poster-board for sexy cooking.

"You really are obsessed with my hair," I commented, stepping aside so he could enter. I started walking into the kitchen before he was inside. The door shut behind me, letting me know that he had taken the begrudging invitation I had offered him.

He just could not take the hint.

"I am," he said. "That and other things. I have a proposal to make."

As if my head weren't already spinning by what he had said, he made it pound when he mentioned a proposal.

"A proposal," I began. "Alright, I have one, too. How would you like to stay for dinner and, in exchange, keep the proposal to yourself?"

He grinned, again undeterred.

When I went for the bowl and began to serve two plates, he sat down at the counter. "I'll stay for dinner either way, but I'm sticking with the proposal."

I rolled my eyes and didn't say a thing, comforted by the thought that I could very easily reject any proposition he might have for me.

Confidently I went to the refrigerator and retrieved the pitcher, serving two tall glasses of iced tea. After I took two forks from the silverware drawer and a couple of napkins, I placed the meals on the counter top.

He had watched me attentively as I served, as I put everything into place, and he watched me now as I took a stool and placed it on the other side of the counter where I could face him, and avoid the proximity of sitting beside him.

I started to eat after texting my family that dinner was ready, and became suddenly grateful to myself for piecing together a meal that was actually good.