He nods, a pleased look on his face. “Yup. They have a homemade syrup made from candied Valencia orange peels. First time I saw it on the menu, I had to try it.”
I take another sip of the coffee, infused with a delicate citrus flavour. “Oh my God, that’s so much better than the crap I used to make.”
“Well, instant coffee with that artificial shit can’t really compare with a French espresso and homemade syrup.”
I smile over my coffee cup as he devours a ham-and-cheese-stuffed croissant in three bites. “True. How was the croissant?” I arch a brow at him, and he has the decency to look a little guilty.
“Good. Want me to get another?” A crumb is on his chin, and without thinking, I reach over and wipe it away.
“Nah, it’s okay. But if you eat that entire chocolate one without giving me a bite, I will end you.”
He grins wolfishly, lifting the pastry and taking a large bite.
“Kai!” I protest, but then he holds it out in front of my mouth. I inhale the aroma of buttery, flaky pastry and rich chocolate before taking a bite, pulling the entire thing out of his hands.
Without another word, I finish the croissant. Damn, that’s good.
“Is the beast in your stomach satisfied enough that we can shop now?” I ask after wiping my lips with a napkin.
Kai pushes back from the table and picks up all of the shopping bags. “Lead on.”
I grin, my mind jumping ahead to all of the stalls we walked past, mentally forming a shopping list. I’ve got a few recipes I’ve been dying to experiment with. Dishes I can’t wait to serve in the restaurant back home.
But that plan changes when I suddenly remember going out for dinner with Kai one night, and how much he raved about the pasta dish he ordered. Why or how I remember that one particular evening over eight years ago, I don’t know, but I’m going with it.
“What time do you have to be at the field?” I ask.
“2 pm. Why?”
“No reason,” I reply evasively.
“Hmm.” He stares at me for a second, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Fine, let’s go.”
As promised, he holds the bags that I fill with a fennel bulb, fresh garlic, and beautifully bright yellow lemons. At another stall, I can’t resist getting two bottles of an incredibly deep and rich-tasting olive oil, one to leave with Mom and Tony, and one to use today and leave at Kai’s place. Fresh, handmade pasta is next, and again, I pick up several different varieties. At the butcher, I select some pancetta, and next door at the cheese stall, I’m delighted to find my favourite brand of parmigiano cheese. The hardest decision is at a bakery stall, but I settle on a fresh focaccia that smells almost as good as the one Gianni makes.
I turn to Kai as we head to the stall that will have the last few ingredients I need. “Do you have any eggs?”
He nods, and I turn back and select the two things I’m missing for the dishes I want to cook for him. If he’s figured out what I’m making, he doesn’t let on as we head back to the car.
“Am I dropping you off at your mom’s place?” he asks casually as he pulls out of the parking lot.
“I was hoping I could come back to your apartment and cook for you.”
His head whips to the side briefly, a smile cresting his lips. “Yeah? So I wasn’t imagining things when you got everything for a carbonara?”
I shake my head. “Do you still like it?”
“Fuck yeah,” he says enthusiastically, facing forward and slapping his steering wheel. He lets out a small groan that sounds borderline sexual and makes me squirm in my seat. “Oh man. I’m so excited for this.” At the next stoplight, he turns back to me. “You’re seriously making me carbonara?”
“Food is kinda my thing now.”
He thumps the steering wheel again, his body bouncing with adorable excitement. I’m not sure if he’s driving faster, or if traffic is lighter, or if his apartment is that much closer than Tony’s house, but we seem to make it to his place a lot faster than the time it took to drive to Granville Island earlier this morning.
Up in his apartment, he sets the bags down on the counter and starts lifting ingredients out. “Put me in, Coach. What can I do to help?”
From the sink, I say over my shoulder, “First of all, you can wash your hands.”
He freezes and gives me a guilty look. “Oops. Sorry.”
