Page 51 of The Roommate Problem
Chapter Fifteen
“Something smells delicious!”
Mo stepped into the apartment and inhaled deeply. Her stomach gurgled in anticipation of the heavenly scent wafting up her nose. Whatever August was cooking, she wanted two helpings. Today had been a long day of running back and forth between different vendors to check the status of things for an upcoming wedding. She could have just called, but noooooo, the groom wanted visual confirmation and insisted they check in personally with the venue and caterer.
People never thought about the grooms being obsessed over wedding details, but Mo was here to tell everyone that sometimes the grooms were worse than the brides. And don’t even get her started on momzillas. Those were the absolute worst.
“Hey, dinner’s almost ready,” August called from the kitchen.
Mo hung up her purse on the wall hook and headed into the kitchen area. She’d really come to enjoy this sight the past few weeks: coming home to see August standing in the kitchen making dinner. Since they started sleeping together a week ago, he’d been making enough dinner for two, branching away from his strict diet of chicken and veggies. He still cooked far too healthy for her tastes—would it kill the guy to use some cheese every now and then?—but a meal she didn’t have to make herself was a win in Mo’s book, so she tried not to complain.
She came up beside him, leaning against the kitchen counter as he bent to take something out of the oven. “What are we having?”
“Pizza,” he said, rising with a stone-baking dish in his oven mitt–covered hand.
She didn’t even know she owned a stone-baking dish. Must be his. Normally she just threw a frozen pizza directly on the rack. It’s what the box said to do, and who was she to argue with clearly printed instructions?
Only the pizza August just pulled from the oven didn’t look like a frozen box pizza. It looked hand made. Knowing August, it probably was. Which meant as delicious as it smelled, he probably snuck a bunch of healthy crap in there.
Her theory was confirmed as she got a good look at the thing. There were sliced tomatoes, kind of weird, but okay. Marinara was pureed tomato, so she could get down with some slices on her pizza. Then there were some green leaves on there…less okay. Why was there salad on a pizza? Salad was the side dish you ignored while you filled up on pizza. There were also big white circles of…something on there. What were those? Where was the cheese?
“Why is the crust so white?” The weirdest thing of all. What did he make this thing out of?
“It’s cauliflower.”
He said that like it was a normal everyday thing. Like people actually ate pizza with cauliflower crust all the time.
“Cauliflower?”
“Yes.”
“Cauliflower? Like the vegetable people cover in ranch just to make edible?”
August scowled. “It’s high in fiber and vitamin B. Plus it has a ton of antioxidants. It’s healthy.”
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s a vegetable.”
He pointed his mitt-covered hand at her. “You need to eat more vegetables, Mo.”
She ate plenty of vegetables. Sunday morning brunch she had a Bloody Mary with an olive, pickle, and celery stalk in it. That was three vegetables right there. Four if you counted the tomato juice in the drink.
And she did.
“Cauliflower needs to stop pretending to be other food and be happy with what it is. A vessel for cheese.” She glanced at the sad excuse for a pizza again. “Which I see is clearly lacking on this thing you call a pizza. And I think it’s gone bad anyway. Why is it green? Where’s the marinara?”
He sighed, taking off the oven mitt so he could point to the food as he explained. “It’s a cauliflower crust pizza with a pesto base, topped with basil, tomato, and mozzarella.”
“Shouldn’t the mozzarella be shredded?”
“No. It’s fresh.” He grabbed the pizza cutter from the drawer and started to slice. “Now go sit down because you’re going to eat this, and I promise you’re going to like it.”
She doubted it, but since he cooked, she’d do as he asked. Mo pulled out one of the chairs and sat at the small kitchen table, watching as August plated two pieces of pizza for them each. He brought the plates to the table and set one in front of her, taking the chair across from her for himself. She glanced down at the “pizza” with a grimace. How could something that smelled so appetizing look so unappetizing?
“This is not pizza,” she stated, poking at the crust with a fingernail.
August grabbed a slice in his hands and arched a brow. “You put fruit on your pizza. I don’t think you get to be the authority on what is or isn’t pizza.”
“It’s pineapple, and a lot of people like it on their pizza.”
