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Instead of slapping myself, I focus on finalizing our dinner. When it’s ready, I set it on the table on a wooden tray in the shape of a boat.
“Wow,” Brooklyn says, examining my work. “Are you sure you’re not planning to open a restaurant?”
I grin. “Are you just flattering me because of the rescue?”
She plops into her chair and winces.
I frown. “Sunburn?”
Pretending she didn’t hear, she grabs a pair of chopsticks, snatches a salmon piece from the boat, and dips it into the tiny bit of soy sauce that I poured for her.
“Put a little wasabi on top,” I suggest just in time.
She does, then sensuously slides the morsel between her delectable lips.
Great. I’m hard now. And it gets worse because I could swear that she moans in pleasure as she starts to chew.
Maybe my dick is making me hallucinate this? But then her eyes roll back as if she’s about to—oh.
“Very funny,” I grumble. “We talk about When Harry Met Sally, and now you’re replaying that famous scene.”
Brooklyn swallows, her cheeks turning the color of the salmon. “What scene?”
Chapter Seven
Brooklyn
That was a weak dodge. I know perfectly well what scene he is talking about: the one where Meg Ryan pretends to come. It’s possible that I inadvertently acted it out, but in my defense, the sashimi is that good. The perfect blend of sweet, salty, and melt-in-your-mouth softness. Also, I haven’t eaten all day. And he?—
“Never mind.” Evan clears his throat, clearly desperate to change the uncomfortable topic. As if coming to his rescue, the cat leaps onto the table, so he hands her a piece of tuna as he asks, “Do you have fur children of your own?”
Does Reagan count? “No,” I reply out loud. Despite the long hair my son has decided to grow out, he’s still not furry enough. “I do, however, want one,” I continue. “Badly.”
“You do?” Evan gestures at his dog. “Why don’t you go to a shelter and rescue one?”
I sigh. “New York landlords like dogs and cats as much as the Grinch likes Christmas. Pets are almost never allowed in rentals.”
“They sound worse than our HOA.”
“That’s a heavy indictment, coming from you.” I grab more sashimi and cover it in wasabi.
A wet nose pokes me in the shin. I look down at Harry, who gives me a lolled-tongue grin.
“Can I give him some fish?” I ask Evan.
“Sure, but without any soy sauce or wasabi,” he says. “And bear in mind, he’ll pester you forever going forward.”
I gleefully hand Harry a piece of squid.
The dog eats it with the same enthusiasm that I had, which is my cue to taste another morsel—and I struggle not to make orgasmic sounds yet again.
“You seem to like animals,” Evan says. He makes it sound like a great compliment.
“I do,” I say. “So much so that I wanted to become a veterinarian when I was a kid. When that didn’t pan out, I became a pet groomer.”
“Why didn’t it pan out?” he asks.
Crap. I walked right into that one. If I want to come out as a mom, here’s my chance. “Life got in the way,” I say vaguely, taking the cowardly route. “What about you? Is managing an Airbnb your life’s dream?”
