Page 162 of Checking Out the Librarian

Jonathan’s raised an eyebrow. “Why do I suspect foam is not in fact a good thing in this context? Have I heard you complain about that?”

“I’ll try again.” This was going to be fun. So much fun. “The chef’s shirt fits very well. Like, mmm, a tight sausage casing? One of the natural organic ones that gets nice and crispy on the grill.”

Jonathan’s knife hung in the air. His face looked like a man who would stand frozen in place without realizing he held a knife suspended in the air.

“Oops. Maybe that wasn’t very romantic.” He licked his lips. “The chef’s hair is particularly smooth and glossy this evening. Like a tomato skin. The Black Krim varietal, dark with hints of red at the stem, mmm.” He pursed his lips and pretended to savor a memory. “Delicious.”

“I want to be a top chef and chop furiously without looking at my knife so that I can stare at you to see what comes out next, but also make some big ass intimidating noises, but I don’t have the skills, Connor. I do not have the skills. I have to choose between glaring at you and chopping.”

“What you gonna choose?”

“You. Always you.” He set the knife next to the partially sliced zucchini.

“The chef’s ass, which I would really appreciate seeing more of, is extremely well-shaped. Like a”—being this bad at compliments wasn’t easy—“loaf of sourdough!”

“You just compared my ass to bread.” He braced on his hands and leaned across the counter. “A less confident man might think you were calling it doughy. But since I know I am not at all bread-like, I’m left wondering exactly how hungry you are?”

“Very?”

“Did you feed yourself today?”

“Maybe? Yes. Yes, I ate. Something.”

“Cookies?”

“Yes.” He wouldn’t say how many. Mostly because all was not a specific count.

“Fruit?”

Connor looked down at Ribby. “Who’s a good doggy? You’re the best doggo.”

“Clearly, I need to take matters in hand. Here.” He shoved the cutting board and a carton of cherry tomatoes across the counter. “Slice these in half and put them in this bowl.”

Connor popped one in his mouth and then picked up the knife. Both of them owned serrated tomato knives, a clear sign of compatibility. While Connor sliced, Jonathan rinsed and began to tear large green leaves. “Kale?”

“Yes. I’m making a summer food thingy.”

“I’m good with kale, but you’re expecting me to eat a thingy? I’m not sure that’s in my diet plan.”

He received another Jonathan look. The evening was going very well.

“It’s a garden pasta salad that was in one of the new cookbooks that arrived in today’s book order.” He paused and stared at Connor as if there was a punchline inbound. “From the Duchess of Sussex. Have you heard of her?”

“Meghan! Meghan has a new cookbook!” He didn’t even feel embarrassed about his thing for royalty anymore, certainly not after Jonathan’s birthday celebration and, well, everything that came after.

Because Jonathan held a knife in one hand and a zucchini in the other, he used his elbow to point at a cloth bag sitting on the second stool. “In there. I checked it out for you. Prince Archie and Princess Lily are allegedly big fans of this dish.”

He pulled the book out of the tote before Jonathan had finished speaking. “Fans of kale? They’re like five.”

Jonathan’s eyebrow made that perfect arch, reminiscent of a villain who had reformed because of the love of a good man but sometimes couldn’t help being a tiny bit wicked. “You don’t know precisely how old they are?”

Connor clutched the book to his chest and grinned. “Six and four, but I didn’t want to intimidate you with details, so I split the difference.”

“One would think they would prefer fish and chips or mac and cheese over kale at those ages, yes. And one might wonder about the balance between veracity and marketing.”

Jonathan put something instrumental and summery on the wireless speakers and Connor felt a sharp need to have this moment, this exact moment with this beautiful, kind man and their pets and the anticipation of food he hadn’t cooked for himself, bottled so he could open it and sip from it whenever he wanted the feeling.

It was magical, and it continued to be magical. And by the time Jonathan served the summer pasta and splashed more pinot noir in Connor’s glass, that was good, too.