“Peculiar,” she muttered.

“What is?” Barbara asked as she placed their dinner on the round table.

“I just realize there’s not a single painting in your house,” Bette pointed out.

“That’s because they’re not here yet. Sam’s supervising the move, so it should be here Monday.”

“Your very own FedEx.”

The senator took a seat next to Bette and raised her half-full glass. “To good company, good food and good art.”

She dipped her head in agreement, taking a sip of her wine then. They ate dinner in silence, their arms brushing against each other every so often. Each touch was like a spark to fan the flames, adding to the anticipation.

Together, they carried the remains of their dinner to the kitchen. They moved as though choreographed, yet there was a great divide between them. Barbara directed Bette to the living room, even after Bette insisted on helping with dessert.

“I’ll be right out,” Barbara winked at the brunette.

Admitting defeat, Bette retreated to the living room with her drink. The silence allowed her time to clear her head, organizing the jumbled thoughts Barbara’s proximity had caused.

The woman, meanwhile, watched Bette from afar. She knew they were moving a little too fast, and it was taking every ounce of their collective self-control to not let passion overrule.

Barbara cleared her throat discreetly to announce her arrival; she didn’t want to spook Bette. “Dessert is served, madam.”

Bette spied the tray of goodies. “Zabaglione!”

“This is the extent of my culinary expertise,” Barbara chuckled when she saw the look of delight on Bette’s face. She sat down next to her, dipping one ladyfinger into the concoction and held it in front of Bette.

She leaned in and took a bite of the proffered morsel, moaning softly when the full flavor hit her palate.

“You know, any louder and I’d be really jealous of dessert,” the senator teased Bette as she fed her another bite.

“Sorry,” Bette smiled shyly. The last time she had zabaglione, she and Tina  … No, she mentally banished the thought. This was not the time to be distracted.

“Don’t be. It’s good that you take as much pleasure from your food as your art.”

A nonchalant shrug was her reply. “Dinner was lovely, thank you.”

“As much as I would love to lay claim on its success, the accolade goes to my chef, I’m afraid. He’s been trading notes with Sam for the past two days and I can’t say I’ve seen two grown men gush like they did.”

“How did you know I love this?” Bette pointed toward the bowl on the table.

“I didn’t. Whenever I have the time, this would be the one thing that would get me into the kitchen.”

Bette filed that tidbit away. She reached for another ladyfinger, dipped into the bowl and offered it to Barbara. Turnabout’s fair play, Senator Grisham.

The woman leaned in slowly, her gaze locked with Bette. She took a bite, letting the pastry melt in her mouth. Barbara stayed close to her, resisting the urge to lean in and kiss her senseless.

“Tasty,” she teased Bette.

When they had polished off the dessert, Barbara quietly cleared away the dishes. She returned with the bottle of wine, sitting closer to Bette than she did previously.

“Tonight has been magical,” Barbara began. “And I want to do it again.”

“I hear a but coming on.”

“I know I promised only a friendship at this point,” Barbara said nervously. Her next words were crucial. “I lied.”

“You did?” Bette questioned.

Barbara fixed her gaze at Bette, buying herself some time. “I want to spend all my time with you. I want to watch Angelica while you’re running late from work. I want to have coffee with your friends and sister and talk about our days. I want all that and more, even though I know it’s too much too soon.”

“Why now?” Bette prodded.

“I want to make it clear to you before we go any further. Whatever happens, Bette, please remember we are friends first.”

The brunette fidgeted in her seat. She wasn’t sure how to reply Barbara’s confession.