“I’m glad you came,” I say, handing him a freshly-washed saucepan.
“So, I still owe you dinner this week.”
The citrus scent of his aftershave and the warmth of his presence make me jittery, like I’ve had one too many toasted praline lattes.
“You know, you really don’t have to,” I insist, scrubbing the roasting pan with more vigor than I need to, just to have something to do with my hands.
“You’re not trying to get out of our date, are you? What is it the kids call it these days? Ghosting?”
I chuckle. “Of course not.”
“Good,” he says. “When are you available?”
“This may come as a surprise to you, but my calendar isn’t exactly packed with social engagements.”
He grins, glancing over at me as he rubs the towel in every crevice of the skillet I just handed him.
“That does surprise me, actually. But hey, maybe that means I won’t have to wait long to see you again,” he says. “How about tomorrow night?”
The back of my neck prickles. “Tomorrow?”
“Sure. If you’re not busy, of course.”
“Tomorrow it is, then.”
“I know I said I was going to take you out, but I was wondering how you’d feel about letting me cook for you.”
I must have looked like he’d suggested we book a table to dine on the moon, because he starts to laugh.
“I take it you’re used to being the one who does all the cooking.”
“I am,” I admit. “It’s not that other people don’t offer. The kids offer all the time, but it’s just kind of my thing. What if I cook something and bring it ov?—”
“I’m sorry, but this is a full surrender of kitchen responsibility.”
“Oh…I, uh…” My words get lodged in my throat as I hand him the last dish.
“Myra Jean, it would be my honor to prepare a meal for you,” he says. “Will you let me do that?”
With no more cookware left to scrape clean, I suddenly feel exposed, so I busy myself by ripping some paper towels off the dispenser by the sink to dry my hands.
“Sure,” I answer. “I’d like that.”
“Good.” He places the last pot on the rack. “I’ll pick you up at five tomorrow.”
“I thought you were cooking at your place? I can just drive myself.”
“I’d like to pick you up and bring you some flowers,” he says, keeping his tone casual. “If that’s okay with you, of course.”
Heat rushes into my cheeks, and I nod. “That sounds…lovely.”
“Perfect.” His eyes linger on mine. “You ready to get back in there with the kids? Sounds like June Bug is giving them hell.”
“Yes, I’m just going to pour myself a cup of coffee.”
“I’ll see you in there, then,” he says, heading for the door.
I open the cabinet to pull down a mug, but Ron’s voice stops me in my tracks.
