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Ari held her breath while Sloane took a sip, holding the wine in her mouth as a dozen expressions crossed her face.
When she finally swallowed, she looked at Ari as if making her final judgments.
“Delicious. Tastes like grapes,” she said with conviction.
Ari laughed. “You’re such a jerk,” she decided before taking a sip of her own.
“What do I look like? A sommelier?” she joked with a shrug.
“What are you cooking, Top Chef?” Ari asked as she drank the wine too bold for her taste.
Sloane raised an eyebrow. “Something nowhere near as amazing as the chilled oysters we’re supposed to be eating right now.”
Ari winced. “I’m not going to lie. I was a little nervous about the oysters. Apart from the obvious food borne illness hazard, you realize they look like snot, right.”
“When are you going to learn not to judge things from their appearance?” Sloane asked before stepping backward toward the stove.
“I guess I’m stubborn.” Ari grinned before bringing the glass to her lips, her gaze lingering on Sloane’s gleaming eyes.
“Finally, some self-reflection,” she joked, removing a stainless-steel lid and unleashing a billow of steam. “It will go perfectly with this store-bought ravioli and sauce.”
“So we’ve established you can boil water. Excellent,” Ari decided with another sip of her wine.
“How much can you do?” Sloane exaggerated her feigned o ense.
“Me? I’m a regular Chef Boyardee. I can microwave just about anything.”
“Maybe we’ll have to get a third who can cook,” Sloane suggested, ladling the pale ravioli out of the pot.
“We’ve barely been a twosome and you’re ready for a trio? I’m not sure what to make of that,” Ari said, standing to help Sloane assemble the meal.
“I guess you would be the possessive type,” Sloane replied after a thoughtful pause.
Ari gave her an intentionally aggressive side-eye. “And you’re not?”
Sloane stretched over the counter to place both plates on the wooden placemats before gripping Ari’s hip. It was such a sudden and animalistic move, Ari gasped. In a blink, Sloane’s mouth was on hers.
“What do you think?” she asked, her words warm against Ari’s lips.
When Sloane kissed her deeply, Ari groaned. She wanted to say something witty but couldn’t formulate a thought.
There was nothing but Sloane’s mouth and her hands sliding
up her back. Ari’s hunger turned primal as she pushed her against the counter without resistance.
“I guess we should eat,” Sloane said, breaking their kiss and reminding Ari that they were standing in her kitchen.
Ari untangled herself from Sloane’s body and stepped back. “I don’t want to insult the chef,” she joked, reaching for Sloane’s hand.
Despite the few steps from the kitchen around the counter, Sloane intertwined their fingers. The realization that neither of them could stop touching for even a few seconds filled Ari’s chest with aching joy.
As they ate, they found themselves slipping into talking about work and the trials they both had coming up. Even after their plates were clean and hanging on the drying rack, they were still debating trial strategies.
“I bet you can’t go a full hour without talking about work,” Sloane decided abruptly, pouring what was left of the wine into Ari’s glass after refilling her own.
“Oh, please. Of course I can,” Ari sco ed, leaning against the counter after the wine introduced a slight wobble in her knees.
“Wanna bet? If you lose, you have to jump in the pool,”
