Chapter 67 Audrey

As I stood in the dimly lit hallway in front of Edwin's apartment door, I couldn't help but wonder if I had made a mistake in accepting his invitation to dinner tonight. It had seemed innocuous enough-his email had stated that it would be a congratulatory dinner for receiving the internship-but now, being here..

For a moment, my hand hovered to knock in front of the wood, I pursed my lips as I looked down at myself. Was I overdressed? Underdressed? Should I run and hide in my dorm, feigning a sudden onset of the flu?

Sighing, I lowered my hand and quickly turned to the nearby full-length mirror hanging at the end of the hallway. Just one last primp wouldn't hurt.

My reflection stared back at me as I smoothed down the front of my deep burgundy sweater dress and ran my fingers through my straightened hair. The dark eyeshadow around my eyes helped the blue color of my irises pop, and the black choker around my throat was subtle and s**y-maybe too s**y for what was supposed to be a casual business dinner. D**it. I should have gone for the trousers and button-down; it would have been much more appropriate than the mini dress and boots. But it was too late now.

Finally, taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door.

A few moments later, it swung open, revealing Edwin in a crisp white shirt and an apron. The sight of him looking so domestic made my face heat up, especially when his gray eyes briefly scanned my body in my dress.

"Audrey," he said, his voice uncharacteristically warm. "Come in. You look lovely."

I felt my cheeks flush even more beneath his praise. "Thank you, I managed, stepping inside. As I did, I held out the bottle of wine I had brought. It wasn't anything fancy-just a cheap red 1 had picked up on the way.

"I, uh, brought this," I said. "I hope it's okay."

Edwin took it and scanned the label for a moment, turning the bottle in his hand. "It looks good. Thank you for bringing it."

As I stepped inside, the smell of cooking food filled my nostrils. Oregano, red pepper, and... Fresh bread? "Something smells amazing," I commented, partially in an attempt to make small talk and ease my frayed nerves.

"I hope you like pasta," Edwin replied, leading me towards the living room. "It's almost ready. Make yourself comfortable while I finish up."

I nodded and made my way to the couch, feeling both out of place and comfortable at the same time. I had been here before, after all. The dark leather furniture and mahogany bookshelves were familiar, although he had cleaned since I had last been here. A small fire was even flickering in the fireplace.

"Would you like a glass of wine while you wait?" Edwin called from the kitchen.

"Yes, please," I replied, grateful for something to occupy my hands.

He returned a moment later with a glass for me. As he handed it over, our fingers brushed, although I pretended not to notice. "Thank you."

took the opportunity to look around at the books on the shelves. The sound of pots and pans banging in the kitchen

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the bookshelf. Furrowing my brow, I leaned in closer. It showed Edwin with a stunning woman with blonde hair and a

a little, although I knew

have someone now? Someone

did.

of my thoughts. Without hesitation, I

you okay?" I asked, stepping into the room with

his hair, looking frustrated. "I'm fine. Just clumsy. Now I

my wine, grabbed an apron hanging nearby, and slipped it on. "I'll help," I offered, already moving to grab paper

don't

want to. Tie

up:

the back. He paused for a moment, and I could hear a breath come out ragged. Finally, he stepped forward and tied my apron, his fingers brushing against the small of

tiny smile was tugging at his

is it?"

swallowing you whole," he teased. "All you need now is

pursed my lips, looking down at myself. He was right; the apron, clearly sized for Edwin's large body, hung comically large on my frame. It went all the way to my knees. "Laugh all you want," I said, shooting him a half-smirk. "But let's clean up this mess

of pasta. While the pasta boiled, Edwin made a new pot of sauce and I checked the bread in the oven. It was clear that he had baked it himself. "Fresh baked bread?" I asked as I took the pan out of the oven. "Do you

chest at his words, and instead turned my attention to the pasta. We cooked in silence for a while, the only sounds that of the soft classical music playing on the record player in the

to fight the urge to ask about the woman in the photograph. It wasn't my business, not really;

with another woman. And she was

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find someone. We were never happening, after all, and I had accepted that. So why did it

so bad?

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