I went to where he pointed and opened the drawer to find an array of seasonings stored away neatly and alphabetically.
“At least the hoe had taste,” I murmured.
I heard Titan laugh.
“You petty as fuck Tink.”
After I chose my seasonings, I placed them on the counter and got to work. It took me no time to clean and season the chicken breast and do the same to the baby potatoes. I cut those up and drizzled the olive oil on them and seasoned them with a garlic butter seasoning and placed them in the oven with the chicken. Both of those would be done around the same time. I’d steam the broccoli once those two are almost done. Now, I was cleaning up my mess.
“You want something to drink? My sister keeps shit here, so she might have that girlie shit stashed somewhere in here,” he offered.
“Girlie shit? Macho much?” I clamored.
“Nah, I just know y’all only drink wine, tequila or some fruity ass shit,” he countered.
“And do,” I laughed. “I’ll take a glass of wine, though.”
He nodded and went to the small bar area on the opposite wall, by the table. He grabbed a bottle of Stella Rosa Moscato d’Asti and a glass. I noticed he only had one glass when he returned.
“You’re not drinking?” I asked.
“Not that sweet shit.” He frowned as he poured my drink.
Once he set the bottle down, he was back by my side.
“So, tell me something I’on know about you Tink.” He leaned against the counter and folded his arms across his bare chest.
I was stuck for a minute before I spoke.
“Uhm... my birthday is August twenty-third. My favorite color is orange, and I have to sleep with the TV on,” I laughed, and so did he.
“Get the fuck outta here. I know your little mean ass ain’t scared of the dark,” he chuckled.
“I am not, but I have to have the background noise or I’ll toss all night.” I shrugged.
“Why not turn on some music then?” he asked.
“It’s not the same.”
“Scary ass.” He smirked.
“Okay, Mr. Franchise. Tell me something I’on know about you.”
I turned to him, and he was just staring at me.
“My favorite color is blue. I’m fluent in French. I had to learn that shit when I lived in Montmorenci. Them muthafuckas over there swear by it.” He took a swig of the beer he had.
“You speak French?” To say I was shocked was an understatement.
“Mhm,” was his response.
“Say something then,” I challenged.
He smirked before placing his bottle on the counter and standing in front of me. He placed each of his brawny arms on the side of me, locking me between him and the counter while he peered down at me with his hair falling in his face.
“Si je le fais, tu vas tomber amoureuse de moi. (If I do, you’ll fall in love with me.)” He gave me a smoldering look that caused my breath to hitch. I was saved by the kitchen timer going off.
I cleared my throat. “I-I need to steam the broccoli.”
