Page 23 of Lessons in Lemonade

Placing the beef on top of the duxelles, I use the plastic wrap to help me tightly cover it with the prosciutto. “It was actually really nice.” I tuck the ends in and twist the plastic wrap to hold it in place in the shape of a log.

“Nice—girls only use that word when they’re trying to be polite.”

“No, really. It was nice, nicer than a lot I have been on this past year.” My mind drifts over the last couple of guys I’ve met: all interesting, and there’s someone out there for them, but it’s definitely not me.

“Are you going to continue these dates next year?”

“I think so, but I’m not going to worry so much if I miss a month.”

Despite some of the guys being complete weirdos, it has been fun to put myself out there and meet new people. You would think I meet them daily in the restaurant, but I barely come out of the kitchen.

“Back to food. Tell me the story.”

Lifting the pan, I take the meat and put it back in the refrigerator so it can settle and hold its shape. I’ll leave it there for at least thirty minutes.

“I’m certain you’re thinking it’s because he’s Irish, but that’s not the case. He’s a middle school history teacher. Currently, they’re talking about the Lewis and Clark expedition, and apparently they ate a lot of protein, from bison to elk to pork, and even dog.”

“Well, that’s disgusting.”

“I suppose it is what it is if you’re hungry, but they also had potatoes. I’m not sure if they made a hash or not, but seemed like something I would have cooked—salted meat to make it last and chopped-up potatoes.”

“Did he kiss you good night?” he teases, certainly not expecting the answer I’m about to give him.

“He did actually.” I never bring guys back to my home—they don’t need to know where I live—so he walked me back to the restaurant, thanked me for a nice night out, and leaned in to lightly brush his lips across mine.

There’s a three-second pause.

“And?”

“It was nice.” And it was. There was nothing aggressive or unwanted about it. It was sweet and appropriate for a pleasant night out.

“There’s that word again.” He chuckles.

“Well, it’s true. It was nice. I haven’t been kissed in a while.” A guy earlier in the year kissed me, but none since then.

“I’m always available if you get the itch.” His devilish tone has me shaking my head.

“Stop it.”

“Just sayin’. Will you go out with him again?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, that’s just sad. I almost feel bad for the poor guy.” There’s a creak in the background, like he’s shifting in his seat.

“Why? I’ve told you before—I’m not looking to find a boyfriend.” I move the pan and other utensils to the sink to wash.

“Then I don’t understand . . . why do you keep going out with these guys?”

“I like meeting new people.”

“And you can’t do that without the pretense of dating them?”

I see what he’s saying, and he does have a point.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Well, let it be known I think it’s a terrible idea.”