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Feeling oddly protective over him, she took off her seatbelt and leaned closer to kiss his cheek.
Surprised, he asked, “What was that for?”
She said, “Just because.”
That drew a smile from him. He teased, “So if a man wants to get a kiss from you, all they have to do is give you a sad story? Hmm. I’ll keep that mind.”
“Hey,” Xolani protested as she put on her seatbelt. “This was a special circumstance.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Oh, so you’re saying I’m special?”
“You wish!” she scoffed.
The teasing continued for the rest of the drive. Barry didn’t seem affected by their talk, but Xolani was still concerned.
When they got to her place, she offered, “Do you want to come up?”
“Come up? Huh?” He crossed his arms over his chest in mock fear. “I should’ve known something was up when you kissed my cheek. What do you want to do to me?”
“You’re so dramatic.” She laughed. “I promise, your virtue is safe with me. I’ll just give you a glass of juice or beer if you want.”
“Hmm!” He gave her a narrow-eyed look. “That juice better not be spiked.”
When they got to her house, he settled in the living room. She went to the kitchen to pour him a glass of orange juice and prepare a plate of snacks. She brought the drinks and snacks to the living room on a tray.
Fascinated by the snacks, Barry leaned closer to the coffee-table. “What is this?”
“Just some tortilla pinwheels I had in my fridge.” Xolani settled next to him on the sectional. “Nothing special.”
“Nothing special? They look pretty special to me.” He picked up one of the vegetable, cheese and tortilla roll-ups and tossed it into his mouth. He hummed, “Mm. Goooood. Did you make them yourself?”
Seeing him enjoying those appetizers so much made her want to lie. But she confessed, “No. They’re store-bought. I’m a terrible cook. Terrible. I’ve been told that my cooking is a weapon, and I’m lucky no one has died yet. At Thanksgiving, I’m the one who brings the ice because they don’t trust me with anything else.”
Barry burst into laughter, almost chocking in the process.
“It’s not funny,” she said while patting his back to help stop his coughing.
“It’s funny,” he disagreed with a laugh.
“Stop!” She slapped his back. “I’m being vulnerable right now.”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he apologized, but his grin was very unapologetic. “It’s just odd. I thought… I thought black women could cook?”
“Not all of us.” She sighed. ““Some of us weren’t born with a direct phone line to the ancestors. Even eggs are not safe in my hands.”
That just made him laugh more.
Once he could control his laughter and coughing, Barry said, “It’s okay. We all have our flaws.”
Excited to have a comrade, she asked, “So you can’t cook either?”
“No, I can cook. I can cook well.” He bragged, “I’m known as a Master Chef in some circles. Gordon Ramsey would lose his mind if he tasted my food.”
She scoffed. “You mean lose his mind because it was awful?”
“No way.” Unwilling to let his cooking expertise be besmirched, Barry offered, “Let’s set a date. You can come to my house, and I’ll show you what I can do in the kitchen.”
“Hmm.” Xolani watched him intently. “That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”
