Page 67 of As Long As You'll Have Me
Turning around, I find her leaning over the counter, trying to see what I’m pulling out of the back of her pantry.
“Where the heck did you find that?” she asks, gapping at the box of pasta and glass jar of sauce I’m holding.
“I feel like that’s a better question for you, it’s your house,” I laugh.
She brushes her hair out of her face and adjusts herglasses. “I must have thought I was going to make pasta one night and then didn’t.”
“How do you survive off of a kitchen like this?”
“I mostly buy enough food to pack my lunches and then get something on the way home from work. I told you before, by the end of the day I want to come home and rot on the couch. Cooking dinner for myself is the last thing I want to do.”
Setting the food I found on the counter, I take a couple steps to stand in front of her. With my hands resting on either side of her legs, I lean in and bring my face close to hers.
“Well if you ever want a home cooked meal, you can call me. I’d love nothing more than to cook dinner for you whenever you want.”
“I’ll hold you to that, fireman.” She smiles.
She kisses me quickly then pushes me away so I can get to cooking. As I do, she watches from her perch on the counter. A few times when I glance at her, I can see how her eyes flare as I move around the kitchen, finding forgotten ingredient after forgotten ingredient and throwing it all together to make a perfectly good pasta dinner.
“Woah, you make forgotten ingredients look like a five star meal,” she compliments as I set the plate down in front of her. She’s moved to a stool at the bar and eyes her meal. I wasn’t sure if the hunger in her eyes was for the food or something else, but I love it nonetheless.
“I told you I’d manage.” Setting my plate down next to hers, I pull the stool out, slide it several inches closer to her, then take a seat. She lets out an airy laugh as I slide into the stool and bump our shoulders together.
“I should really start believing you.”
“Now, you’re learning.” I point my fork at her as I reply.
When she takes a bite, she lets out a type of audible exclamation. The sound that comes from her tells me that the meal is even better than she expects it to be. Watching her take another bite, her eyes roll to the back of her head and she does a little dance in her seat.I can’t wait to make her eyes roll like that for a different reason.
“Damn, fireman, you can cook,” she praises, smacking my arm with her hand. She stabs at her pasta again, taking another hearty bite. I love when women aren’t afraid to eat.
“Been doing it at the firehouse for years. I love cooking; I don’t get to do it enough.”
“Why’s that?” she asks, mouth half full, not looking up from her plate.
“Never really had anyone important enough to cook for before now,” I say easily, looking at her out of the corner of my eye. She slowly lifts her eyes from her bowl to look at me. When she does, a faint pink hue grows in her cheeks.
“Well, I love to eat so you can cook for me whenever you want.”
“Don’t tempt me with a good time.”
We sit next to one another and finish our bowls—I finish two—and enjoy the quiet company of the other. When she’s done, I hop down from the stool and take her bowl, giving it a good rinse in the sink before setting it in her dishwasher for her. I already cleaned up the pot I used to cook so her kitchen doesn’t even look like someone used it.
“Are you working tomorrow?” she asks, looking at me from across the bar.
“Nope. I have the next three days off since I just did a forty-eight on,” I explain, wiping down the countertops to finish off my kitchen duties. She nods her head, contemplating something. “Why are you asking?”
Shaking her head innocently, she shrugs. “Oh, no reason. I wasn’t sure if you needed to head home to get some sleep before reporting or…” She holds the ‘R’ a little longer, swinging her eyes towards me.
“Or…” I repeat, mimicking her.
“Or, I dunno, maybe you wanted to stay. I mean, a little longer, here. We could watch a movie or play a game or?—”
“Are you asking me to stay the night, doc? On the first date?” I press my hands into the countertop out in front of me and tip the corner of my lips up.
“I didn’t say anything about staying the night, I only mentioned stayinglonger. I mean, you could stay the night if you want but you also don’t have to if you don’t want. Also, is this our first date? Is it a date if we just sit in my apartment? You did cook me dinner so I guess you could consider this a date. Counting Friday at Fresh Start would probably be a little inappropriate. I guess any normal human would consider this our first date but it also doesn’t have to be if you don’t want it to be. And again, I never mentionedstaying the night, I simply said you could stay longer.”
I move around the counter as she rambles at high speed and spin the stool she’s in so she’s facing me. Boxing her in, I rest my hands on either side of her barstool and lean in. The move finally gets her to stop talking and look at me.
