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“My favorite lovebirds,” she chimes. “Welcome to today’s Inferno Infatuation activity. Hope you brought your appetite.”
“What is all this?” I ask as we walk toward our own private station.
“Your fact sheet said you enjoyed cooking.” Molly gives me the softest nudge of her shoulder.
“I do.” I can’t help the smile breaching my lips. “But didn’t we have an aerial meditation class today?”
“We did.” She shrugs, the slightest hint of fire in her eyes. The strap of her frilly blouse falls, and she swipes it over her shoulder, revealingthebra. That damn piece of clothing that caused me to lose it yesterday. “I figured you’d like this a little more. At the very least, you can laugh at how terrible I am in the kitchen.”
Before I have a chance to respond, Ms. Deveaux cuts through our conversation. “We all know the saying,Trust your gut. But today’s activity will involve trusting your lover. You’ll use all of the tools and farm-fresh ingredients available to you to nourish your partner by making their favorite meal.” Molly gives me a very tense smile. Lolita continues, “There won’t be any conversing with each other before you begin.”
Thankfully, Molly wrote that she loves extra cheesy pizza in her fact sheet.
Twenty minutes later, I’m kneading dough onto the wooden board in front of me.
At On Cloud Nine, they spare no expense. We’re making each other dinner from a fully stocked and refrigerated pantry under the late afternoon sun. The environmentalist in me has been struggling with the level of excess, but we won’t be here for much longer.
“Ugh.” Molly groans beside me, tossing another egg into the sink. She’s definitely not preparing my favorite childhood meal—my dad’s scallion cheddar biscuits.
“Are you still not going to share what you’re making?” I eye Molly, who’s made a great effort to hide her mystery dish.
“Do I need to call Lolita over here and have her walk through the instructions again?” Her authoritative tone makes me chuckle.
“No, ma’am,” I say playfully and get back to my dough. Molly tosses one more smashed egg into the sink. Her back is tense. She must be getting irked. “Trust me, when I was first learning to cook, I served plenty of shelly eggs and burnt toast. But nobody masters something on the first try. Or, in my case, the second. Or third.”
Molly peers over her shoulder at me, wiping the frustration from her brow.“You have a tendency to make a lot of good points.”
The compliment floods my chest with warmth.
“How are we doing over here?” Lolita floats over to us, observing our stations.
“We’re trying,” Molly laughs. A swift crack, and a small cheer comes from her side. I glance over to find a clean, no-shell egg drop into her mixing bowl.
“And succeeding.” I smile.
“It seems like the both of you can handle it from here,” Lolita says, making her way to another couple.
Molly does a little celebration dance. It’s ridiculously cute.
“Good job, darling.”
Her eyes flash to mine. “You’ve called me that before.”
Caught red-handed. I clear my throat, picking up a ball of mozzarella cheese and bringing it to my grater. “Trying to stay convincing, remember?”
Molly gives me a sideways glance and returns to whipping her eggs with a fork. “Right. Well, would you like a nickname?”
I don’t hate the idea of her having something to call me. Something only for Molly to say. “Do you have one in mind?”
She thinks for a moment, pondering the question with care. “Ollie always calls you Mattie.”
“And he’s lucky he’s twice my size, or I would’ve put an end to it long ago.”I shake my head, pressing harder on the grater.
“Alright, no Mattie. Maybe I’ll stick with Matthew. My Matthew.”
I halt. Did she just say that?
MyMatthew.
