He wipes his hands on a towel, then grabs my phone, fingers flying. I don’t even want to know what the two of them are talking about.
Okay, I do. I’ll check later.
“So you’re into cougars, then?” I ask innocently as I set some garlic and avocados on the cutting board for him.
“Ha. No, I just needed to taunt her about Words with Friends. I’ve beaten her three times in a row.”
I stare at him. “Did I just hallucinate, or did you say you’re playing Words with Friends with mymother?”
“Uh,yeah,” he says in a Valley girl voice, like I should know this.
“I cannot even. I have lost my ability to even.”
He smirks and starts peeling the garlic, as if the revelation that he’s been in contact with my mother warrants no further explanation. I beg to differ.
“So your grandparents are still alive, then?”
“Yep. Actually, all four are still alive.”
His eyebrows jump in surprise and I could kick myself. Great, I’ve piqued his interest.
“Wow, really? You’re lucky.”
“Yep.”
I load both pans of meat into the oven and set the timer. When I turn back, he’s watching me.
“What’d I say?”
God, he’s like a bomb-sniffing dog. “Nothing.”
“You are theworstliar. Absolutely no poker face.”
My heart rate ticks up but I keep my face neutral. I’m not in the mood for this conversation tonight. I think I know something that’ll distract him.
“Queso’s ready!”
I pull it from the oven and set it up on his countertop alongside some chips I’ve poured into a bowl. “Now remember, if you fill up on queso, you won’t be hungry for the tacos.”
He gives me a look.
“I’m sorry, I forgot who I was talking to. Queso away.”
He loads up a chip and one-bites it, then moans. “How do you do it?”
“I know, I’m good at everything. It’s my cross to bear.”
We banter back and forth until the oven dings, then I shoo him out of the kitchen so I can build the tacos. This is my favorite part: It’s all in the presentation, and since I’m usually only cooking for one, I don’t have a reason to make it pretty. I take my time sprinkling the cotija cheese and drizzling the chipotle mayo, adding a wedge of lime and painstakingly arranging the avocado, setting up his plate as artfully as if we were at a restaurant. When it’s finally ready, he ushers me to a dining table he’s diligently set with place mats and cloth napkins.Cloth napkins.What single man owns table linens? Is hetryingto make me swoon?
When he takes his first bite, his eyes widen, then close.
“What do you think? Good?”
He holds up a finger, chewing. When he swallows, he locks eyes with me. “I think... will you marry me?”
I’ve just taken a sip of my drink and I immediately start choking, margarita spraying everywhere.
“Jesus, I’m sorry. I was just kidding. Are you okay?” He’s out of his chair instantly, crossing to my side of the table and thumping me on the back.
