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After we finished, Noah let out a noisy sigh. “The delivery guy was three hours late, and then Fox has gone to Ainsley’s house, and he won’t be back until seven, and jeez…” He slumped to one of the stools. “Thank you.”
“It’s all good,” I said and passed him the paperwork. “Teachers are experts at filling in forms.”
Noah gave them a cursory glance, then set them on the counter and placed a bowl on them to keep them safe. He glanced at me, offered me a shy smile, and I couldn’t help myself—I took his hand in mine and kissed his palm before closing the fingers.
“Missed you,” I said.
He colored. “Me too.” Then, he checked his watch. “Have you eaten? Because I think I haven’t eaten all day.”
“You think? Or you know.”
He snorted. “I know.”
“You want to go out?” Could this be our date? Our meal out? Talking and learning, and maybe some more kissing?
He tugged his lower lip between his teeth—I wish he wouldn’t do that, because, jeez, sexy—then glanced at the clock and then, back at me. “How about I make something here? Do you eat chicken?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” I deadpanned. “Chicken is life.”
He grinned, and I moved from my chair to a stool at the hatch so I could watch Noah as he worked. He moved around the kitchen with a fluidity that was almost mesmerizing, chopping bell peppers, onions, and carrots with precision, his knife tapping against the cutting board.
“How do you not cut yourself?” I asked as he poured oil into a large skillet.
“Practice.” He held out his hand. “If you look close enough you can see the scars from when I started.” I took hold of it, turning it this way and that, pretending I couldn’t see the tiny pale scars on two of his fingers, all so I didn’t need to let go. I tugged a little, and he took a step toward the serving hatch, leaned there, and laced our fingers.
“Hi,” I murmured.
He glanced past me, and then, in a quick movement, he pressed a kiss to my lips, another hello of sorts, then backed away. I missed the feel of him, but he had work to do, and the oil shimmered before he tossed in chicken strips, which sizzled upon contact. Every so often, he would glance up and smile as the aroma of cooking food filled the diner, a blend of garlic, soy sauce, and sesame oil. In less than twenty minutes, Noah was sliding two plates of steaming chicken stir-fry in front of us, and handing over sparkling cutlery and napkins, plus a glass of water each.
“You’re a pastry chef, right?” I asked as I stared down at the dish. “Cakes and desserts, that kind of thing.”
“Well, yeah,” he said, and swung himself onto the stool next to me, our knees touching. “But I’ve done all kinds of stuff. I just love the sweet stuff is all.” He dipped his gaze, and I reached out to tip his chin, then leaned in for one more kiss. “And you’re plenty sweet,” he added.
As we dug in, the door swung open and Fox entered, waving at a departing car, and then, his face lit up at the sight of the food. “Wow, that smells awesome!” he exclaimed.
“Didn’t you just eat at Ainsley’s?”
Fox tapped his belly. “Still room.”
Noah chuckled, plating up a smaller portion for him. “Well, you’re just in time, Fox. Grab a fork.”
He joined us, and we ate together in the warm, cozy corner of the diner, and given he was here, the conversation soon turned to Fox’s schoolwork.
“Hey, Dad, guess what?” he said, with a shy glance at me. “Guess who got an A minus on their English essay!”
“You did? Wow, that’s outstanding, Fox! Well done!”
Fox dug into his school bag, then held up the essay with the bigA-in the corner. “Well-constructed arguments. Consider the rabbits,” he read out. “I knew I should have put the rabbits in.” He sent me a rueful smile.
“Of Mice and Menis not an easy text, but you nailed it despite only a few days’ study. Aside from the rabbits. So, how did you feel about the essay itself?” I asked.
Fox took a thoughtful bite, then replied: “It was cool. I liked analyzing the characters. George and Lennie are like opposites, but they fit together.”
Noah listened, asking questions, or commenting, and his wide smile made it obvious how proud he was of Fox. I realized how natural it felt to be here with them, discussing literature over a meal cooked with care.
I’m having so many feelings here.
As the meal wound down, I found myself not wanting the evening to end. There was something about the diner, about Noah, and Fox, that felt like peace. A place where I could be myself, share my passion for literature with a pupil who loved books, and enjoy the simple pleasure of good food and better company.
