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My heart flutters at the thought of him doing this for me. “Me too. It’s hard to make food for one person, especially for me. Don’t really like leftovers either.”
Levi’s eyes nearly bug out of his head. “Seriously? Why not?”
“It’s just never been my thing. I’ll eat them only when I’m desperate.”
“Not sure you’d survive living here. My mom makes so much food during the holidays, we’re always sent home with airtight bags full of turkey, ham, and the works.”
“Sorry, but that’s something you’ll never change my mind about.”
“What if you didn’t know it was a leftover, though?”
“Oh, I always know,” I say matter-of-factly. “It tastes different.”
He mischievously chuckles. “Whatever you say.”
“Why are you laughing?”
“No reason,” he singsongs.
I glare at him. “You’ve fed me leftovers, haven’t you?”
“You didn’t even notice! And I didn’t know it was one of your…quirks.”
“It never came up because delivery doesn’t exist here. But if you saw my fridge in Seattle, you’d judge me. It’s where takeout goes to die.”
“Oh, Fallon Joy. What am I gonna do with you?”
I smile wide. “Remember me forever.”
“Don’t have to worry about that, babe. You’re unforgettable.”
The oven timer goes off, and Levi grabs a mitt. Carefully, he slides the tray out, sets it on top of the stovetop, then removes the skillet from the heat. I enjoy watching him plate our meal.
“Wine?” he asks.
“Sure.”
He grabs two glasses and opens the bottle. Once our glasses are filled, he slides into the stool next to me.
“What?” he asks as I look down at my plate.
“I seriously have to eat this?”
“Just one bite.” He laughs. “Try it. You’re almost worse than a kid.”
I playfully smack him, then stab one with my fork. Before placing it in my mouth, I smell it. Then as Levi watches me, I open wide and pop it inside. The outside is crispy, and the inside is squishy, but it tastes…not horrible.
“Well? You didn’t spit it out, so that must be a good sign?”
I pop my lips. “I always swallow the things I put in my mouth, whether good or bad. Not much of a spitter.”
Levi nearly chokes, and I love catching him off guard. I pat his back. “You okay?”
He clears his throat and takes a big gulp of wine. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“These are actually really good. They’re buttery. Not sure why I’ve always refused to give them a chance.” I eat another.
“It’s because you’re stubborn,” he quips.
