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“Probably something with truffles. My chef loves to put truffles on things.”
Abbe turned to him. “Isn’t it weird that people come into your house when you’re not here and, cook things for you, and… I don’t know…fold your underwear?”
Rafe shrugged. “You get used to it. I’ve never lived any other way.”
“Rich people are weird,” Abbe decided.
“So weird,” he agreed.
Abbe turned back to the five-star chef-prepared meals that were dated and stacked, but not labeled, and pointed. “I’ll try that one,” she said.
“Why that one?” he asked, sounding curious.
“Because it’s pink.”
Rafe nodded. “I think it’s penne al vodka in pink sauce.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anything pink that wasn’t desert.”
“Lotta firsts tonight,” he said with a satisfied smile as he pulled it out.
Of course, it was delicious. Even re-heated, it was better than most restaurant meals. Abbe and Rafe shared it, taking turns stabbing the penne with their forks rather than divvying it up onto separate plates.
“Favorite dog,” Rafe prompted.
“The homeless kind,” she replied.
“Obviously. Favorite water?”
“What’s a favorite water?” she asked. She’d never heard that one before. “Are you talking about bottled water?”
“Ocean, lake, or pool; fresh or salty; cold or hot; rain or snow,” he said, ticking them off on his fingers.
“I’m going to be boring and say hot shower.”
“That’s not boring, it’s a classic,” he said, but he did put his fork down to argue. “But do you really prefer a shower to floating in an Icelandic hot spring?”
Abbe blew air through her lips, making apppbbsound. “Like I’ve ever been to Iceland.”
Rafe narrowed his eyes and nodded, thinking. “Iceland. Check.”
“Are you keeping a list?” she asked, grinning with surprise.
“Definitely.” Rafe rinsed the snap-ware and their forks in the sink and put them in the dishwasher.
He had an extra toothbrush still in its packaging in his bathroom. They brushed their teeth together. When she was finished, Abbe stood next to him, looking at the toothbrush, wondering if she should put it in the rack next to his, or throw hers out.
“Come to the Berkshires with me this weekend,” he said, taking her toothbrush out of her hand and putting it next to his.
“What’s in the Berkshires?” Abbe asked, trying not to smile as he turned her around and scooted her into his bedroom.
He’d just kept her toothbrush. And asked her to go away with him. She couldn’t decide which was bigger. She stopped smiling. Going away with someone was a lot. Maybe too much. He was walking behind her, his arms wrapped around her to keep her against him and his face buried in her hair.
“Foliage,” he said against her ear.
Of all the words she could imagine Rafe saying at the moment, foliage was not one of them. Abbe burst out laughing. They were both past punch-drunk and heading toward giddy.
“Foliage, huh?” she repeated as she got under the covers. “Weekends are hard for me.”
