Balancing a box, a grocery bag, and a bottle of wine tucked under my arm, my foot tapped against Josh’s door. Second thoughts swirled in my mind. We hadn’t specifically agreed to meet tonight and I had hoped he would be home.
As I stood waiting, a flash of nerves ran through me. Whatif he wasn’t here? What if he had company. Oh, that would be terrible. Clearly the effects of my buzzed-up muscle relaxants had worn off now and what had seemed like a good idea, might not have been. Self-doubt inched in and I turned to head back down the hall when the door opened. He simply smiled and my nerves eased.
He nodded toward the box. “What’s all this?”
“We need to set rules for my Papi’s party, plus we need to eat. I thought we could stay in tonight. Cook at home.” The wine bottle was dangerously close to slipping out of the small bag dangling from my arm. Josh grabbed the box, allowing me to save the wine from crashing to the ground.
“Cook?” he asked, widening his door to let me in.
“Yes… You know, the thing that involves the kitchen, the oven that can be used for more than pizza-box storage.” He eyed me suspiciously as he placed the box on the counter. Truth be told, I could cook to survive, but Nora handled most of it. Cooking seemed convenient, gave us some privacy from anyone overhearing our arrangement.
He shifted himself to the barstool on the other side of the counter. Meanwhile, I laid out the contents of chicken breast, zucchini, bell peppers, lemons, couscous, feta cheese, and a seasoning pouch on the counter. Then pulled out the recipe card, adding it to the pile of stuff.
Josh snagged it and gave it a once over. “How’d you know I’d like Greek chicken?”
“I didn’t.” I shrugged. “But it looked tasty and it’s got a good amount of protein for your diet.”
I dumped the fresh produce into the sink and started washing them. Josh stood eyeing me as I commandeered his kitchen like it was my own. Once the veggies were washed, I set them up on a paper towel to dry. I opened the first set of lower cupboards, but they were empty. What the–?
“Does this fancy kitchen contain pots and pans, or are allthe cupboards empty?” I asked, opening a third door to see a few mismatched Toronto Twister mugs.
“Pantry.” He nodded toward the tall set of cabinets on the far wall.
“Ah.” I stalked over and was pleasantly surprised to see he had a fully stocked cookware set. Less surprised to see that it looked as if it had never been used. The gleaming stainless steel had not a scratch on it.
“Have you ever used these?” I asked, grabbing one of the large skillets with a lid.
“Nope.”
My eyebrows knitted together with all the questions of why or how do you not ever have the need to cook? I balanced it in my hands, noting the heavy weight and make of the pan. These were high quality, maybe even restaurant style and yet, never used. “Why would you spend such good money on them if you were never going to use them?”
“I dunno. I heard they were the best.”
Typical.
Josh leaned in against the counter. “Are you judging me?”
“Damn right.”
“Hey, before you judge too hard, know that I grill like a mother fu—.” He stopped mid-sentence, seeming to change his wording. “The grill is easier and I like the char on the food. Proteins, veggies, all done with minimal effort and less dishes.” His eyes wandered over the contents of the food box now littering his counter.
“Where do you grill?”
“The condo rooftop has a whole patio setup with a couple of grills.”
Huh. “I’d completely forgotten about that!”
“Alright, grill master, come do it the old-fashioned way.” I laughed tossing a bell pepper at him, which he caught without taking his eyes off me. He swept around the counter,coming close enough for me to catch the faint scent of his cologne.
“Old-fashioned is sometimes all you need.” He winked.
Choosing to ignore his flirting, I carefully read the instructions of the card. Trying not to focus on how easy this was, to just be cooking a meal with him, like it was natural. Reaching around for the chicken, I stuttered out, “Let’s lay out some ground rules, for the party.”
“Like what?” he asked with a hint of hesitation.
“Like, it’s not the same as around the guys. My sister is going to grill us more than your BBQ. We need to be both couple-y with touchesandabout knowing the usual topics in a fake-dating agreement.”
“Never fake dated, so hit me with what you think we need to set rules for.”
