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By the time Esme knocked on my door, the pizza was in the oven, and I had the coffee table all set up. I was pretty proud of myself for making such a classy meal that had actually been completely thrown together.
Potato ran to greet Esme as I yelled for her to come in from the kitchen. I’d also put on some music, hoping to really set the mood. I’d thought about candles but changed my mind at the last minute. Candles were a little too sexy.
I also made sure there were new sheets on the bed, and the pillows were in perfect arrangement. And that my lube was handy, just in case.
All systems were go.
“I think he loves you,” I said, as Potato rolled onto his back for belly pets. He gave her complete heart eyes as he wiggled in satisfaction as she rubbed his belly floof.
“I adore him too,” she said. “I figured since you have made me food twice, and it was your idea to go to the beach, the least I could do was bring appetizers and dessert.” She held up two tote bags from her dad’s store.
“Ohhh, I didn’t think of dessert.” Or appetizers. Oops.
“Hey, no worries. I know you made that beautiful charcuterie board, but I bought mine. And I didn’t make this cake myself either.” She pulled the containers out and set them on the counter.
“I won’t hold it against you. Food is food.” The cake went into the fridge, and I pulled off the top of the container.
“Now, we could plate this, or we could just go for it,” I said.
“Go for it.” She picked up a carrot and dipped it in the little container of hummus in the middle.
“The pizza should be done in just a few minutes,” I said, and we took the board to the living room. Potato tried to attack it, but I pushed him away and then distracted him with a toy so he wouldn’t bother us. He got bored with the toy and then fell asleep on the floor.
“I think I got a little toasted today,” Esme said, pulling aside the shoulder of her t-shirt.
“Oh no,” I said, looking at her reddened skin. “We should have paid more attention with the sunscreen. My mom was right.”
“I remember Dad chasing me all over the yard with the bottle when I was a kid. I was so mad at the time, but now I want to thank him. Don’t tell him that.” She laughed at the last part.
“Yeah, I’m afraid if I told my mom she was right it would go to her head and she’d never let me forget I said that once,” I said, dipping a floret of broccoli into the other creamy ranch dip included in the tray.
Esme sighed. “I know what you mean.”
The timer for the oven went off and I retrieved the pizza.
“Oh my god, this looks so fucking good,” Esme said, as I cut up the slices and then we loaded up our plates.
“I hope it is. I can’t believe I even had prosciutto and brie at the same time. I am not normally this fancy, trust me.” I picked up a slice and bit into it. The cheese was still a little too hot, so I burned my mouth, but whatever.
“Fuck, this is amazing,” Esme said, her mouth full.
We were both silent for the next few minutes as we shoved as much pizza in our faces as we could without choking. It was a delicate balance.
“I should have made more,” I said, when I realized we only had one piece left.
“Split it?” she asked.
“Always,” I said. I ripped the piece in half, but she reached for the smaller one before I could give her the bigger one.
“You made the pizza. You get the bigger half,” she said. For some reason, this made me blush and I tried to hide my face.
Esme took the dishes back into the kitchen and rinsed them in the sink before I could protest.
“I think I need to wait for dessert,” she said, when she sat back down. I was nursing my second glass of wine, and hers was empty, so I poured her some more.
“Sorry the wine isn’t better. I don’t even know where it came from,” I said. I also didn’t know how to judge if wine was bad or good. I didn’t drink enough to know the difference.
She took the glass from me. “No, it’s fine. I don’t know much about wine either. I watched this show about how even sommeliers can’t actually tell the difference between expensive wine and cheap wine, so make of that what you will.”
