Before she could respond, an alarming smell filled the air. She held Mo’s gaze for a split second, his apology left hanging, and turned to open the oven door. A plume of smoke rolled out like a storm cloud straight into Netta’s face.
‘Ah, shit. I should’ve just left them in the pot. Bloody oven.’ She fanned at the smoke and Mo stood, grabbed a tea towel, and whisked the dish from the oven to the stovetop.
‘I think the smo—’ Netta was interrupted by the unholy shriek of the smoke alarm springing to action.
‘Smoke alarm’s going to go off?’ Mo shouted over the din, laughing. ‘Where is it?’
Netta pointed to the ceiling above the dining table.
‘Broom?’
Netta grabbed the broom wedged down the side of the fridge and passed it to him. He pulled out a dining chair and climbed up, stretching to reach the alarm on the high ceiling, his shirt lifting just enough to reveal his hip bones and the tantalising dip that ran alongside them into his shorts. After a few misplaced stabs, he nailed the target and the apartment was plunged into the relief of silence.
Mo looked down at Netta through the smoke haze and laughed. ‘You reckon the meatballs are done or do they need a little longer?’
Netta was waving a baking tray around like a mad woman, trying to clear the smoke from the kitchen and the vision of Mo’s stomach from her mind. ‘Ha, ha,’ she said drily. ‘It’s not me, it’s the oven, I promise. Sometimes it plays nice, other times it incinerates. I took a chance.’
Mo stepped down from the chair and pushed it back into place. ‘Let’s have a look.’
‘They’re quite black on top, aren’t they?’ Netta said. ‘Maybe we should just get Uber Eats or something.’
Mo took a fork and opened one of the meatballs. ‘They’re good on the inside. They’ll be fine, we’ll just take the black bits off. And look, the sauce still looks beautiful.’
Netta’s laugh started deep in her chest before it reached her face. ‘I’m so sorry I burnt your meatballs, Gianna!’ she said to the ceiling, as though Gianna was up there somewhere.
Mo laughed. ‘I won’t tell her. Promise.’
‘I was going to set the table, but I’ve got another idea. Can you dish it up?’ She gestured towards the plates waiting on the bench. ‘There’s bread there, and a salad in the fridge.’
‘Sure.’
Netta disappeared into her bedroom, reappearing quickly and crab-walking past him to the lounge so as not to reveal what she had hidden behind her back.
‘Can I bring the plates down?’ Mo shouted down the hall.
‘Er, just a sec.’ Netta struck a match to light the candle Mo had given her and sat down on the couch. ‘Yep. Ready!’
A few moments later, Mo appeared in the lounge-room doorway, expertly holding one plate in his left hand with another balanced on the inside of his left forearm, two clean wine glasses dangling by their stems from his fingers under the plate, and the two open bottles of wine in his other hand.
‘Let me guess,’ said Netta, impressed. ‘You used to be a waiter, too.’
He grinned. ‘How’d you guess?’ He set the wine and plates on the coffee table and passed Netta a glass. ‘You lit the candle,’ he noted with a smile. ‘I have one too. It reminds me of you.’
‘I love it,’ Netta said. ‘Now …’ She beat a drumroll on the coffee table. ‘May I also present to you …’ She held one foot up, encased in an Ugg boot.
Understanding spread across Mo’s face. ‘Aha. Ugg boots, couch, Gianna’s meatballs … all we’re missing is the open fire!’
Netta swept her hand past the candle with an exaggerated flourish. ‘Size doesn’t matter, right?’
‘Ha! That’s perfect,’ said Mo. ‘But why are you only wearing one Ugg boot?’
‘Because I only have one pair, so that means the other one has to be for you,’ she said, matter-of-factly, passing the left twin to him.
He shucked off his shoes and slid his toes in, the boot nowhere near big enough to fit his foot. ‘Like a glove.’
Netta poured two fresh glasses of wine and a knowing look passed between them as Mo took his from her. ‘Let’s eat first,’ she said. ‘And then we can talk.’
‘They’re actually pretty good,’ Mo said, swallowing his first bite. ‘I might have to pass your cooking tips on to Gianna. She’s really missing a trick with the burning part.’
