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“Na-uh!” I set the bags down. “I’m in charge of dinner tonight.” I set down the Chinese that was just delivered, unpack the cartons on the coffee table, and kick off my shoes. “If you want to help, can you please grab us some plates and forks?”
Beau just stands there with his mouth hanging wide open. “Forks? Nah, Sunny. That’s no way to eat Chinese.” He smiles, taking charge, lining up box after little red box.
“What? Why?”
“We are doing this buffet-style.” Beau nods toward the table. “Can you move those magazines for me?”
“Whatever you say.” I laugh, loving the spontaneity, and stack them on top of each other in a basket underneath.
He winks at me and pulls the wine from the crinkled Magnolia Mart brown bag. Luckily, I was able to bribe the delivery guy to make a pit stop on the way here.
“We will need glasses for that wine though, unless we’re going back to drinking from the bottle.”
The way he’s looking at me lets me know he’s remembering our evening together, sharing the Moet… Just. Like. I. Am.
I can’t even lie, I think about it all the time. It’s hard not to having him here in my space.
“On it. Which cabinet?” he teases. “You know what, never mind. I’ll find them.”
I leave him to his glassware scavenger hunt. I’m starving.
“It smells incredible.” I can’t remember the last time I had Chop Stix. “But I think we got enough food to feed an army.” I laugh, looking at all the various cartons in front of me. We couldn’t decide and ordered sweet-and-sour chicken, General Tso’s chicken, beef and broccoli, lo Mein, stir-fried rice, dumplings, crab Rangoon, and spring rolls.
“That’s what leftovers are for.” He returns, successfully holding up two freshly rinsed wineglasses. “I found a couple above the fridge. They were a little dusty; I rinsed them.”
“Probably a good call.” I rarely drink wine.
“I take it you’re a drink from the bottle at home kind of girl.” He places the glasses down and teases me. I secretly love it. Banter with him is almost as good as… nope, not going there.
“Ha-ha. You’re funny. But no, you’ve got me all wrong… it’s from the box.”
He howls with laughter as he drops down next to me on the sofa.
“Actually, I’m more of a margarita kind of girl.”
“Good to know. Please tell me you have a wine opener for this lovely Riesling though?”
“Oh yeah, I think I have one in my—”
“Tote bag,” he finishes for me.
“You know me so well.”
“Starting to.” He winks. “I’m convinced this bag is bottomless.”
“Some days, it feels that way.”
“Here is one.” His eyes light with amusement.
“Perfect. I’ll let you do the honors.”
He opens the white wine and pours us both a glass.
“What movie should we watch?”
“Well, we tried one of mine last time, so how about one of yours? Feeling like a little Caan, Bates, and Misery?”
“I don’t know, Sunny. A brilliant writer being held captive by a demanding woman in her home… sounds familiar.”
