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She shakes her head, snagging a loaf of bread out of another cupboard. “I’ve got it.”
I start to settle myself onto one of the tall stools, when she sets down a cutting board and grabs a large bread knife out of the block next to the stove. That’s when I realize it’s not some simple loaf of bread, it an unsliced, fancy-looking loaf, like the kind you’d get at a bakery.
Standing back up, I move over to her side of the island. “I insist.”
Food prep is not my specialty, but watching a drunk person wield a sharp knife is not on my list of things I want to see.
Thankfully, she easily relinquishes the task, “If you can just cut four slices and set them on the plates, that’d be great.”
She gestures to the plates, and I notice that they’re mismatched. One has pink polka dots, the other is white with tan flowers, both something I’d expect to find at my grandmother’s house growing up.
The fridge opens and I glance over to watch Maddie set containers and jars on the counter. I never said I’d have a sandwich too, but I’ve never turned down homemade food in my life and I’m sure as fuck not gonna start now.
Plus, I want Maddie to eat. It’ll help her hangover tomorrow.
“Can you hand me a spoon?” Maddie asks me offhandedly.
Done with my task, I set the slices on the plates then look around for said spoon. “Uh…”
Her attention is on the pile of ingredients in front of her, so I start opening drawers. On the third try, I find the silverware and hand her a spoon.
“Thanks.” She opens a small container, stirring the contents.
I lean closer, looking over her shoulder, “Looks good.”
“It is. I make it all the time and put it on everything.” Maddie beams up at me. “It’s probably not good date food-” Her eyes widen. “Not that this is a date! I didn’t mean… It’s just that there’s horseradish in it, so it’s a little spicy. I wasn’t-”
Wanting to stop her spiral, I reach around her, and swipe my fingertip through the sauce. This might not technically be a date, but I don’t need to hear her remind me.
Maddie watches intently as I put the digit into my mouth.
Then I lose track of her all together because- “Holy hell, that’s good.”
“Really?”
Focusing back on her face, I find Maddie staring at my mouth. “Really, Baby. It’s fucking delicious.”
“Good.”
Her response is hardly a breath and if she keeps looking at me like that, it’s not gonna be a sandwich that I’m eating as a midnight snack.
Maddie’s eyes dart away from mine, and she busies herself constructing the layers on top of the sliced bread.
Her amazing sauce, cheddar cheese, slices of roast beef that absolutely didn’t come from a store, some sort of fancy lettuce, and the tomato slices that I insisted on cutting for her.
There’s a small dining table off to the side of the living room, but Maddie slides our plates across the island in front of the two stools, along with two glasses of water.
It feels so natural to help her. To walk with her around to our spots. To pull out the stool for her.
Sitting side by side, she looks up at me shyly, “Bon appetit.”
Together, we take our first bites. And my soul leaves my body.
“Fuck, Maddie,” I groan, shoving another bite into my mouth.
“It’s okay?” she holds a hand in front of her mouth as she asks, trying to cover the fact she’s talking with her mouth full.
“Not okay.” I shove another bite into my mouth, having no such compunction about talking around food. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
