pete hayworth (lastcall) wrote in casefile, @ 2018-08-04 15:57:00 |
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Between her son’s struggles and her ex-husband’s deceit, the last few days had been an emotional rollercoaster for Wynnie, but that night when she walked up the steps to Mitch’s door her steps were lighter than they’d been since Eli had told her about the picture he’d destroyed and she’d started to think about what that might mean. At home, her house was a fortress, but there was something about Mitch that made Wynnie feel safe, even without the locks. She had a small overnight bag that she set on the stoop while she waited at the door. When it opened, Wynnie held out a roll of cookie dough like a baton. “I brought dessert!” Mitch had prepared thoroughly, the sheets in the guest room had been changed, there were fresh towels and a variety of soaps on display, dinner was in the oven, and by and large the house wasn’t very messy at all. He was medium to highly pleased with the results. Time would tell the rest. As he opened the door to let Wynnie in his eyes almost immediately darted to the dessert. “Do you like it baked or raw?” He figured if she wanted to talk about more serious matters, she would, but for now they’d always have cookie dough. Right now, Wynnie was feeling down for any topic except Nate. She was all Nated out. “I don’t think there’s a wrong way to cookie dough. How do you like it?” There were a lot of snooty bakers who would really give Wynnie a hard time for saying that, but Wynnie didn’t care. Raw cookie dough was amazing and sometimes she liked to live life on the edge. Plus she always thoroughly washed her eggs. “Hmmmmm,” Mitch put on his best deep thinker pose as he closed the door and pointed Wynnie in the direction of the kitchen. “I don’t think there’s a wrong way to eat it either.” It was delicious all around. “I’m partial to it in ice cream but they never manage to put enough in there … but today I think I’m feeling baked.” “The people who make grocery store chocolate cookie dough ice cream are practically highway robbers,” Wynnie agreed. “And they put so many of those little chocolate chips instead when what you really just want is the gobs of dough. I’ll have to make you some the next time I do ice cream. What’s really good is when you get two cookies and you put ice cream between them. It’s like a heaven sandwich.” She walked into the kitchen following his directions. “This kind is really good baked. I call them Ultimate Chocolate Volcano Explosion cookies.” Whatever Wynnie was describing sounded like the best ice cream sandwich in existence. Mitch was duly impressed, but he usually was when it came to Wynnie. Dinner was nearly ready, and after they could preheat the oven for the, “Ultimate Chocolate Volcano Explosion cookies,” he repeated carefully, as if trying to commit this very important phrase to memory. “We can put them in when dinner’s done, and in the meantime, you can have the tour or you can have a drink … choose carefully.” Wynnie did not even need to consider this. She put a hand on Mitch’s arm. “The tour.” Wynnie wanted the tour. “Though does this mean I can’t drink anything until I leave? That doesn’t change my choice, I just need to know so I can plan.” “No, it only means you’ll get your drink when we return to the kitchen.” He grinned. “Speaking of, this is the kitchen.” It was small, but clean, with open shelving and dishes and glasses stacked neatly on full display. A bit of carry over from owning a bar perhaps, but Mitch enjoyed how it looked. “I mostly eat here but sometimes it’s used for other things.” So far, she’d made the right choice. “I like it!” She admired the glass display. “It looks like you. What are the other things?” “You’ll find out at the end of the tour,” Mitch teased before guiding Wynnie toward the living room, which looked very mid century modern furniture wise but was lacking much in terms or wall art. “This is where I watch tv,” he gestured to the flatscreen on the wall, “And do the occasional crossword puzzle.” Wynnie stood there a moment to let this room sink in. The spartan decorations and the big tv. It was a very bachelorish sort of space. Which made sense because that’s what Mitch was. But not every bachelor was so neat. Except maybe The Bachelor. But Wynnie was pretty sure he hired people. No real bachelor would willingly cover their house in that much maroon. “It looks like a very suitable space for both of those activities. Just to warn you though, I know like a thousand things that could go on that wall.” Mitch nodded solemnly at this warning. “You know them, but could you get them up there?” It sounded like a challenge, albeit a playful one. He lead her back through the entry way before taking her down a boring hall. “That’s my office,” he pointed. It was a small room with a rather large window, out of which was a nice view of the street across the way. And old fashioned desk took up much of the space. “And that’s the guest bathroom,” he pointed across the hall. “If that’s a challenge, you might be in trouble,” Wynnie teased. But she was happy to follow him through the hall, which also could use more decorations. “Oo, I love that window. Your house has such good bones.” She knocked on a wall. Wynnie walked forward to the guest bathroom and opened the door, she was still as her eyes focused on the row of soaps. A soft smile spread all the way across her face and she turned her head to look at Mitch, quiet but happy. “You kept them.” The phrase good bones made Mitch smile, but not as widely as he did at the comment about the soaps in the guest bathroom. “Of course I did,” it was a silly sort of grin that he graced her with. “They’re yours to use now, as company.” A few more steps. “And this is the guest room.” It wasn’t very grand but there was a bed, a nightstand, a clock, a lamp, all of the basics. “..They’re your company soaps?” The idea of that touched Wynnie even more. From what she’d seen of the house, Mitch didn’t have very many objects that were special to him. But the soaps were. She almost didn’t want to move because it would end the moment, but after a pause, she followed. “Wow,” she said. “This is really nice.” She set her bag down by the door. “Well, they are when you’re company…” It felt difficult to say much else, he wanted to kiss her just then. But that, Mitch told himself, would have been presumptuous and was an activity much better saved for the kitchen. So instead he let the sentence hang and watched his houseguest with a wistful air. Her head turned toward him as the whole meaning changed, not necessarily because of what he said as much as how he said it. She let the sentence hang too as he looked at her and she looked at him. A couple feet from her. But she didn’t take a step forward. Instead, not knowing what was ahead of her, Wynnie decided to leap. “Mitch,” Wynnie said, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” Well, that was one way to do it. Straight to the point. Mitch could respect it. “I have been wondering, if you might want to date,” he explained, “but I didn’t want to put any pressure on in case you were concerned about potentially ruining a friendship.” It was a valid concern, one that he had had himself for quite a long time, but, well, sometimes things were worth the risk. “Oh yeah,” Wynnie agreed. “I was terrified of that. You’ve been this rock for me for so long. Longer than anybody. But I think we’re past that point. I don’t think I can be just your friend anymore. Not if we’re going to be happy.” That for some reason brought a grin, a large toothy grin, the exact kind that showed off Mitch’s best features. “You think we’re going to be happy?” It was a question but somehow one that he seemed to completely agree with. Her smile spread at his and the way his broke across his face brought moisture to her eyes as she beamed back at Mitch and nodded. “I think we are,” she said. “I think it’s time.” Wynnie thought that maybe all the unhappiness and sad things before had been so that they would know how to be happy now. He knew they were happy tears but nevertheless, Mitch shifted somewhat uncomfortably. He thought he had an idea though. A good one. “What do you say we save the dinner I cooked for later and go out. A first date should be something special.” Until Mitch said that, Wynnie hadn’t thought about it like that, but he was right. This was the first date. Her eyes widened and Wynnie looked down at her converse sneakers. Wynnie was wearing jeans and a comfortable sweater. Her attire was much more kiss-on-the-couch than go on a fancy first date. But maybe that would make it more special. They’d have to plan the date around it, or they’d have to be more resourceful. When she looked up, she grinned. “It could be another Mitch and Wynnie adventure.” Her tone said she was in. “Another in what will be a long series,” Mitch responded instantly. He wasn’t sure where they would end up, but they would have fun along the way, they usually did. But that had been the preamble and this -- it was the first chapter. She leaned in, conspiratorially. “But this time with more making out.” It was like Wynnie had said before. Mitch was the smartest man she knew. “You know,” Mitch also leaned in, but at the same time he turned his wrist to glance at his watch. “I think we could squeeze some of that in before dinner. Just an idea.” An arm draped over his shoulder as she looked up at him. “I like the way you think.” “Heeeey,” Mitch replied in a teasing tone as he tilted his head down so that his lips could meet hers. “So do I.” |