I nod. “I was going to grate parmesan into the pasta toward the end of the cooking process and incorporate it into the sauce. I’ll dish yours out first before I add it.”
“Wait,” she says, sitting straighter. “I take it back. I love parmesan.”
Okay, then. With another nod, I pull it out of the fridge.
“Are onions okay?” I ask, reaching for the basket of aromatics and selecting a fresh sweet onion along with a few cloves of garlic.
“As long as they’re cooked, yes.”
Perfect. I select my favorite sauté pan and get to work. “Give me twenty minutes,” I say, then allow myself to get lost in the familiar motions and soothing choreography of cooking.
As comforting as cooking is, by the time I plate our food, I’m nervous. I wilted fresh baby spinach into my serving but left it out of Evangeline’s per her request.
She’s been quiet since I started, mostly on her phone and occasionally smiling at the screen.
Despite my best efforts, every few minutes, I found myself sneaking a peek at her. She’s beautiful, and she’s even more alluring when she lets her guard down. Her hair is voluminous and the color, like the white sand of a tropical beach, emphasizes her bright blue eyes. Her nose is sloped, and her mouth is plush. It’s impossible to miss that feature. She’s almost constantly had her bottom lip notched between her teeth, and the visual is enough to drive me mad.
Her style is a little wild—she’s wearing bright red accessories with her bold animal-print shorts. It works for her, though.
My mind has been racing with questions for the last twenty minutes or so. I’m equal parts intrigued and fascinated by her.
It’s no wonder Luca was interested in a romantic relationship with this woman.
“Lunch is served,” I announce, presenting her food and placing it before her.
She giggles, scrunching her nose adorably.
“Please don’t be offended if I hate it.”
I stifle a laugh.
She’s refreshingly honest; I’ll give her that.
“No anticipatory offense taken,” I assure her as I slide into the opposite chair. “Eat up. If you like it, of course.”
I focus on my own plate, resisting the urge to watch her as she scoops up a few pieces of pasta with her fork.
She licks her lips like she’s nervous as she lifts the food to her mouth.
I’m holding my breath, I realize, as she takes her first bite and chews.
“Oh.”
Oh?
My chest tightens. Was that a goodohor a badoh? Maybe she’d prefer more cheese? I was worried about the lack of protein but didn’t want to overpower the?—
“Yum. This is delicious.” She hums, closing her eyes.
My heart hammers in my chest, pride swelling as her words sink in.
“You like it?” I confirm.
“Very much so.” She loads a much bigger bite than the last. “It’s seriously so good.” This time she practically moans through a mouthful of pasta. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until now.”
She digs in with abandon.
Satisfied, I do the same.
