Chapter 4
AN: Hello, everyone! Posting another one quick for tonight. As always, thank you so much for the reviews. I will respond after I get this out...
Arriving at Derek's at exactly seven like he'd asked, Penelope took her key out and opened his door. His dog, Clooney, came charging up to her in a massive rush of dark blonde fur. He was a hyper dog for a retriever, and he became even more hyper anytime Penelope was nearby. The dog had an uncommon love for her, probably because she gave him a lot of love, attention, and treats, and took care of him when D was out of town.
"How's my boy?" she asked as the dog reared on his back legs and put his paws on the belly of her white flowered skirt. His tail was wagging so quickly, her skirt was raising, and she could feel the breeze like a fan.
"Clooney!" Derek admonished, walking over towards them. "Get down!"
The dog immediately backed down, glanced at his owner with the guiltiest look on his little dog face, and tucked his tail between his legs.
"That's better," he said, glancing at Clooney, and then quickly pulled Penelope into his arms.
"Oh, that was a little harsh," she said, giving Derek an admonishing look of her own.
"Hey," he said with a low growl and a wiggle of his expressive eyebrows, "if anyone gets to molest the guests around here, it's me."
She giggled, and he gave her a quick kiss by her ear. She raised her nose to the air, and looked at him with surprise. "Derek. That smells wonderful."
His grin was massive. "Surprise. It's not takeout."
Her skeptical look said it all.
"Serious!" he answered, making a cross on his heart. "Scout's honor. I called my momma and got her recipe for mostacolli. I started the sauce yesterday before I went shopping."
"Ooh!" she exclaimed, being reminded of his present. "What did you buy me?"
He led her to the table and pulled her chair out. "I got you two things, Miss Impatient, but you simply have to wait. Dinner first, presents after."
She pouted again, taking her seat. "Derek Morgan, you are a mean man."
"Who made you dinner, bought your favorite wine, and even rented The Ugly Truth to watch with you tonight?" He sighed. "Indeed: really, really mean."
Penelope was glad she was sitting, because she almost fainted in shock. Derek was not a cook. He burned water, for heaven's sake. He hated wine in general, being a diehard beer man. He even hated her luscious pinot noir. And he despised romantic comedies with a passion. He thought they were the worst, most predictable, cheesiest things on the planet. In six years, they'd never watched one of those.
She looked up at him. "What's for after the movie? Opera? Ballet? Reading poetry?"
He pulled the cork out of the bottle of wine, and then shot her a look. "Smart ass."
Smiling, she took a sip of the proffered glass of wine. It was light, delicious and fruity, with that hint of cherry and vanilla she loved. "This... this is so heavenly, Derek. I don't know how you can't like it."
Taking a sip from her glass, he shrugged with a smirk, "Not bad. Still like my Old Faithful better."
She looked up at the dimples in the corners of his mouth, and the little crinkles by his eyes were more pronounced. He was teasing her, like he always did. That particular beer was the worst thing she'd ever drunk. It tasted like skunk juice in a can, and caused her to shudder. She was not a beer connoisseur, but even she knew that was a shitty beer. Derek never cared when it came to beer; it seemed like he could drink anything and be okay with it.
Her heart skipped a beat. Even though it had just started, this was already one of the nicest nights she'd had in forever. He was being so sweet, so flirty, and so accommodating. She thought he was the most wonderful man on the planet. If he wasn't her best friend, she could fall head over heels in love with him. To tell the truth, she had, a few years back. About fifty women later, she realized he didn't feel the same way.
He was sweet, he was kind, he was being more romantic tonight than any other night. Unusually so. He also had a number of perfectly good girlfriends he went out with on a regular basis. So why was he doing this?
Because he still felt sorry for her. He felt sorry for her because of what Kevin had done, and what she'd told him last night. That bitter taste filled her mouth just like the beer he drank. No one wanted to be pitied on their birthday!
She needed to put an end to that, pronto. "Derek, you don't have to do all this."
He was wandering out of the kitchen with an absolutely gorgeous looking pan of cheesy goodness. Her mouth salivated just looking at it, despite the bitterness she felt.
He put it on the table and arched a brow at her. "A little late now. I already made the dish. One second," he said, dashing back to the kitchen. He came back with a loaf shaped mass of tin foil. "And I made garlic bread. Found that recipe online, and you know how much I hate computers."
Her eyes watered. He was being so damned sweet. He really did hate computers, and even typed with two fingers. She swallowed, hard.
"It's going to make kissing each other uncomfortable, all this garlic," he teased, unwrapping the bread. He winked at her again, and her heart jumped into her throat, making speech impossible.
He looked at her, this time frowning. "P, what is going on?"
She whispered in a small voice, "You don't have to do this because you pity me."
His frown increased, and he sat next to her. "What?"
"You pity me," she said, swallowing hard to get her heart to lower from her throat.
"The hell I do," he said, obviously furious. "Where would you get that idea?"
"Because Kevin dumped me."
"Oh, hell, no," he cursed. "I would never pity a woman who escaped from Lynch. In fact, I consider you damn lucky not to have to deal with that weaselly bastard anymore."
"Well, my other problem, then." She'd known after she said the first thing, she was dead wrong, but she continued on anyway, in spite of her better judgment. She kind of needed to hear what he said, for her heart to knit back together again.
"Baby, that other problem is so little, it's laughable. It could be easily remedied. I can prove it to you." His voice dropped an octave, and he looked over at her. "After dinner, if you so desire."
She looked at him and giggled. He was such a tease. "Thanks, but no thanks."
He grabbed a piece of garlic bread and took a big bite, then said, "Suit yourself."
A question nagged at her. "If you didn't feel sorry for me, why did you do all this?"
"All what?"
"The cooking, the pinot noir, The Ugly Truth?" She arched a brow at him this time. "Come on, Derek. This is so not you. It's uber girly."
"No, it's uber you, and I've had it planned forever," he said.
"You did not," she argued. She couldn't believe he'd gone through this much trouble, just for her.
"If you recall, I told you I started the sauce yesterday, before I went shopping." He stared at her, daring her to argue again. "That was before you told me a damn thing, woman."
She stared at him again. That was true. Her heart started beating harder in her chest again; she could feel it expanding, growing warmer while filling with love.
"Still want to know why?" he said, still grousing. "Could it be because you're my best friend? Could it be because no matter what I do with you, I have a great time? Could it be because I love you and want you to be happy with all your favorite things on your day?"
He glared at her. "No. It's because I pity you because a jackass can't make you come."
She blinked at him, and he continued to glare. She felt terrible for misjudging him like that. "I'm sorry."
"You should be."
"I love you, too, Derek." She reached over and squeezed his hand. "So much."
He brought her hand to his mouth and gave it a quick kiss. "Now we're talking."
They were quiet for a few moments, just holding each other's hand.
"Come on," he said with a sweet smirk, breaking the stillness. He handed her a piece of bread. "We got dinner to eat."
