I shook my head, taking another bite. “Like is an understatement.” I speared two cherry tomatoes and a small cucumber slice and popped those into my mouth. “What else can you cook? Because, aside from being a nurse, eating is my other favorite thing to do.”

“I’ll make you whatever you want.”

That was the most alluring statement—and a dangerous one. Like they said about men, a way to my heart was definitely through my stomach. If everything Caleb made tasted this delicious, I was going to be in trouble.

“How did you learn to cook?”

He took a drink first and answered, “My nanny. She was from Sicily and taught me everything I know.”

When the eggplant hit my tongue, I could taste the thin layer of breading, and somehow, he had made it crispy on the outer edges and soft in the center. “That woman needs to write a cookbook. She’s a genius.”

He stared at me, his hand on his wine. “Aside from my mother, you’re the first woman I’ve done this for.”

His admission simmered in my chest.

“The first?”

“Friends, colleagues—they’ve all sampled my food. But I’ve never invited a woman into my home and cooked her a meal and eaten at this table. In fact, you’re the first woman who’s ever come here.”

Caleb seemed to have many layers. I had seen one outside the bar when he stopped me from entering the street and another when he talked about business and that feral stare of his whenever he kissed me.

Now, this.

Bracing myself, I wrapped my fingers around the stem of the glass. “Why did you let me in?”

“You base your decisions on your gut, and I get certain feelings about people. Aside from you being so fucking beautiful, there’s something extremely intriguing about you, Whitney.” His eyelids narrowed, and then he rose from his chair. After setting his napkin on the table, he reached for me. “Come here.”

When our hands linked, he brought me over to one of the tall panes of glass and stood behind me. The coldness of the air seeped through the window, the sight darkening as the sun took its final dip.

“Copley Square,” he whispered, his arm moving across my shoulder to point in the distance.

Where the bombing had taken place. A memory neither of us would forget.

But from up here, what felt like the center of the clouds, I couldn’t hear the cries or screams. I couldn’t see the damage that had been left behind.

All I could see was hope.

He was holding my waist, his face close to my neck, his breath trickling over my skin. “Whitney, I believe everything happens for a reason.”

Shivers passed through me, and I wasn’t sure why.